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My other mother bends to collect something from the floor, her 88-year-old body folding in half, then righting itself easily.

living in gratitude©

It’s a quick, fluid movement, remarkable in its elegance.  Her mobility is normally more halting; she uses a cane or walker.

I tease my other mother about trying yoga poses in the kitchen.

“I danced ballet; I was a gymnast,” she says, explaining her hidden agility.

We laugh, as I demonstrate why I flunked such graceful pursuits as a pre-teen.

“I wished I wasn’t old. I wanted to teach my granddaughters ballet,” she adds.

We examine a photo of her granddaughters, in sparkly outfits and solemn gaze, at a ballet recital.

We agree they’re lovely.

Now in their 20s, at college instead of ballet school, her granddaughters are smart and energetic, and move with an easy grace.

I am thankful to witness this elegance — in motion and in spirit — in all the women of this family.

I love them deeply, in all my awkwardness.

 

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