Persepolis has left me thinking about grandmothers. Those of you who know me have probably heard me talk about my maternal grandmother, how she was the person in my life who gave me the purest and most unconditional love, and feelings of security and being special, and how I admired her strength and smarts more than anyone else I've ever known. And you've probably heard me say that even though she died in...1992?...I still miss her fiercely sometimes. (More than I miss my mom, a fact that shames me a little, but, y'know, even loving parent-child relationships are complex and full of landmines.)
And thinking about grandmothers, mine, and the grandmother in Perspolis who reminded me so much of mine, I'm feeling a bit sad that the chances are very, very high that I will never be one. I would like so much to be able to give that to someone--that pure love uncomplicated by the need to discipline or instill boundaries, that pure acceptance unfouled by expectations, just hugs and listening and the occasional bit of wise advice and the even more occasional metaphorical kick in the ass when they're on the precipice of douchery.
Part of me wonders what's the point of getting old if I'm not going to serve that purpose for someone. What good am I going to be to anyone when I am 70 if there's no one for me to share that with?
I suppose I've got another 25 years to figure it out, eh?
xoxo
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