I peer into the looking glass
And know the image I see
The face comes forward from my past
It’s you, ~ Gram, Mom ~ and me!
~
At fifty-one, my precious gram
Held the spunky, 2-year me
At that same age my mother
Was grandmother to my three.
~
The stages passed in but a blink
Some energizing, some wearying
The roles assigned shifted, changed, redefined
The times thrilling and new, never dreary.
~
So today the woman glancing back
Has raised her sweet family
She’s ages old and quite content
She’s a Gram, she’s a mom, she’s me.
~
Wonder what my daughters will see
When they glance toward the glass
In a decade or three.
Will it be me? We? She? All three?
