My Grandmother, Ethel Rae Lindrooth
Why is it that when we are young we forget to ask all the questions we should be asking our Grandmothers, while they are still with us?
It’s not that I didn’t ask my Grandmother anything. We talked a lot about her family, growing up in the mountains near Knoxville, Tennessee. We talked a little about the Depression, and why she didn’t buy a wedding dress.
But now when I look at that smile in this picture, a different list of questions come to mind.
I want to ask her about intuition, and plants. And maybe menopause, if I could convince her to talk about that too.
Likely she grew up around people who used plants as medicine. I know she used homeopathy. And loved shasta daisies. Did she learn to depend on her intuition?
Maybe she learned the “song of synchronicity and alignment, the deep sense of harmony and dialogue that happens when a person finds the right medicine for them in that moment,” in Maia Toll’s words.
I think she did. I remember the light in her eyes. In that light was a “knowing,” an “intuiting.” When I dream of her, I still see that brightness. It was always there when she looked at me, like an extra special message she was saying but not saying. Perhaps this was just how we had that conversation that I now wish I’d had with her.
As if she was saying, “Walk with me into the magic of being you. The greatest adventure of life is being, and knowing, and trusting.” Perhaps this is the gift of Grandmothers, a light that is passed to future wise women. Like me. Perhaps this is the gift of plants too…the most healing gift of all.
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