A week ago my husband and I went to meet a relative's fiancee and have dinner with the family. She was delightful, and he just glowing with happiness. I had lugged along four photo albums to show my older two kids' weddings, and also pictures of a trip to India (the bride is from Mumbai). We females, as is our wont, began giggling the minute I pulled the albums out of the bag. The fiancee plopped down on one side of me on the sofa and her sister took the other side. Let the laughing begin. We oohed and aahed over dresses and flowers, I identified people and they did their best to keep everyone straight. Then the groom's mother got into the spirit and pulled out baby and childhood pictures of the groom and his brother which caused a mass of protests and groans. Pretty soon we were all on our knees around the coffee table squeezing in to look.
My husband and I came home exhausted and happy, knowing our family had expanded still further, and that one of the great things about getting older is this inclusion and excitement of fresh, new faces to get to know. I teased the groom's mother about having to be patient quite a time to get a daughter, but here it was. A daughter. Such joy comes to those who wait; we who are lucky enough to be around to see who the younger generations marry, what they chose as their professions, whether their children inherit red hair or the grandmother's singing voice are witnesses to the wonder of life. It's a fascinating process, and it will go on and on after we're gone and the pictures have disintegrated.
We've had a lot of family die, but in their place come new members, and we will be replaced as well. I find this fact comforting. I can imagine my granddaughter's life after my death, and it looks good. I'm grateful.
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