Breakfast memories

I went to breakfast with my dad this morning. Nothing fancy, just a little mom and pop diner close to our house. This morning was the first morning in the past two days that I haven't felt like bursting into tears.

Over pancakes, we talked about the family. We talked about my Tata, my brothers, uncles and cousins. Then the conversation turned to my nana. Nana Irma died when I was five but I still miss her. I like to imagine what she would be like now, how she would react to the person I've become. I find myself wondering if she would be proud that I'm her granddaughter.

"I don't really have a lot of memories of her," I said. "But I like to think she was a no-nonsense woman. A strong woman, someone who was the rock of the family."

My dad drank his coffee and nodded. "She was a good woman," he said. "If there was something that needed to be done, she didn't make a fuss about it, she just did it."

I suddenly felt very ashamed. I've spent the past few days mourning the past. I've beat myself up over things that I can't change. I've been focusing so much on what needs to be done and how I'm going to accomplish it instead of just doing it. I don't want to be a martyr, I just want to get my stuff done.

I look at my family and it's clear that I come from a strong line of women. From my grandmother to my own mother to my aunts and cousins, I think there is very little the women in my family can't accomplish. I think I possess the strength they all have, I just haven't been using it.

Still, I wish my Nana were alive. I wish I could ask her what she thought when she was my age and if she was happy with her life. I don't think people are ever satisfied with their lives. I don't think the doubts ever go away, it's just a matter of learning to work around it.

That still seems like a pretty raw deal. But there have been millions of people before me who made life work somehow. I just have to get on with myself.