When my eldest granddaughter was 3-something, I showed her our wedding photo, which happened to stand on the family mantel in her home. I said it was Grandpa and me. Obviously she’d never made the connection, for she looked back and forth from the photo to me, comparing the young woman with long dark hair inside the frame to the woman with short grey hair and glasses who was holding her.
“Grandma,” she finally said, earnestly, “did you turn into someone else?”
I can’t remember what I said in reply, though I chuckled. I still chuckle, thinking of it more than a a decade and a half later. What a great question.
I could have said Absolutely, yes, I’ve turned into someone else, in fact I’ve been a number of “elses” over my lifetime, at the cellular level for sure, but in other ways too, in awareness, knowledge, thinking, views on matters theological, political, and otherwise. Change is the stuff of life and I’ve tried to be open to changes and conversions of all kinds Here’s hoping it shows.
But no surprise my granddaughter was confused. I get confused about myself too. I shopped for pants this week. Strolling the mall, seeing the window displays, I realized that when I look at the mannequins, in some weird way I still inhabit the sense of being a teen, assume myself slender and taut. Once inside the change room then, with my items to try on and it’s Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s that you’re looking at? and it’s someone with soft belly, soft thighs. With a sigh, recognition realigns with reality.
On the other hand, I could have said, No, no, no, same me, or better said, same old me. Surface is surface, and underneath is the me I’ve always been. It seems to me that there’s something basic in personality and sense of self that threads back as far as memory can take one and furthermore, that this thread, at least for a child with a reasonably happy childhood, doesn’t want to break. Shouldn’t.
I was struck by something I heard at an online funeral recently: the deceased person, on getting their terminal diagnosis, had said, “I’ve enjoyed being alive.”
Me too, I thought, I enjoy being alive.
Joy and wonder. That’s the part that feels unchanged, or when lost, can be recovered. It’s the entering the kingdom like a child. Being four or maybe five or six, the wonder of hearing exquisite music come out of a huge tape player above my head on the table. The wonder of fields and hills we played in, the wonder of “swimming” in a foot of creek water, the wonder of those letters on a page that make up words and can be read, the wonder of God is love.
Oh you sweet, bright grandchild of mine, did I turn into someone else? Yes and no. No and yes.
And you, what about you? Did you turn into someone else?
A February day.
Borrowing Bones 
Oh yes, this last change is a big one for me. I’m not used to being a “widow” just yet! Did you know that widows are mentioned 81 times in the Bible? I’m preaching a sermon about two of them this Sunday and I’m hoping Hardy is cheering me on from wherever he is in the huge change he has made!
Some changes, like Hardy’s (and Helmut’s) are bigger than others! May your sermon radiate the life and warmth you bring into your ongoing, albeit changed life.
Dora, I love your granddaughter’s comment, but No, I’ve never felt that I changed into someone else. My sense of ‘me’ has been very strong since I was a small child. There have been many, many changes in my life over the years, but they’ve felt external to that essential ‘me’. The sense of continuity predominates. At eighty-six I am still that ‘me’ that came into consciousness when she was a very little girl.
Continuity–I do love that word, and the truth of it as you express it, Loretta. And am looking forward to reading more of that “line” in the last book of your lovely trilogy, coming up soon.
Still pondering this one. Maybe it’s the word ‘change.’ In many ways I am the carefree child who had the good fortune to have a magical childhood, but 7 decades in, I think my life is more about evolution than change. Or emergence from various chrysalids of learning and experience. But my childish joy of life is still with me. I am so grateful.
Thank you for your comment Rosemary. It sounds like our experience has been much the same — and your word evolution seems perfect, perhaps gentler than change. And the childish joy of life! Best to you.
Maybe see you at the next Ladner Writers’ Circle. I recently read All That Belongs. Wonderful.
Oh I’m loving making this connection. Yes!
What a lovely essay. You convinced me about “yes” and you convinced me about “no.” I can imagine the conversations you will have over the years as your granddaughter gets older and you bring her back to her own question as you look through photos of both of you at various stages of life.
What do you want to change? What do you want to keep? Who are you at the very core?
Oh Shirley, you are a wise one, to suggest questions for engaging in the forward-looking conversation with my granddaughter. We’ve talked a little about this story, but in several weeks we will be driving somewhere together and will have some hours to converse. Thank you!
Another great blog, Dora. Yes, you have changed and I like who you have changed into!
Back at you, Al!