When I held my father’s feverish bluing fingers in February and watched him take his last gentle breath, I marveled at the mysteries of life that had brought us both to this moment. He had lived eighty-five years and was reaching towards peace. I was fifty-seven and at last old enough to understand that and bear the responsibilities elderly parents bring to us; mature at last, thank God Almighty, mature at last.

On the last day of June I learned that I was to become a grandmother, another of the great and wonderful mysteries that life offers us: the experience of new life. I was struck dumb; I told my son and his wife how delighted I was, thrilled really, but I knew, as usual, it would take me a few days to process the information in my own way. Alongside my grief, I feel growing in me a small green and vital vine of twisty-turny love for this as yet unknown human being. Who will he or she be? Will s/he look like my son, or like my beautiful daughter-in-law? What will baby’s first word be, favourite food, smile be like? All of this is unknowable, but these are the small things that give life its mystery. How happy I am to be part of all this!

But there are many days of mysteries to be grateful for between now and then… the love and thoughtfulness of good friends, the cuddly ears of well-loved dogs, the shared meals with our talkative family, the sway of the dancing trees in front of our house, the quiet of Georgian Bay at sunrise and sunset, and this good and loving shared life with my husband, David. There are so many other things that I could have mentioned…but the awareness of these is what is important today. Life is full; my life is full. My cup runneth over.