Urban Mama

An Unexpected Grief Trigger

Two days ago I almost got in a car accident. I was making a right turn at an intersection I drive by at least four times a day. It's about one mile away from my house, right in front a townhouse development. As I made the turn, I saw a grandmother with the same short and curly hairstyle and unnaturally purplish brown dye job Mami used to sport occasionally. The Abuelita was holding hands with her sundress-wearing young granddaughter, smoothing down her hair and fixing a bow that adorned the little girl's locks.

Staring at the tender scene between the petite grandmother and her preschool-aged granddaughter, I veered too far to the right and nearly crashed into a parked car. I corrected my course at the last possible second, and then I started to cry -- not only because I'd nearly rear-ended the sedan, but because that Abuelita reminded me so much of my mother. For the briefest of seconds my heart had sped up at the thought of her, the image of her touching my own daughter's hand, of her making sure my girl looked her best -- just like the grandmother on the sidewalk.

So I cried the rest of the short ride home, out of sadness that my daughter, who is in so many ways just like my mother, doesn't get to experience that love and attention from Mami. She does have a wonderful grandmother, a NaNa who loves and spoils her dearly, but it's just not the same, and it still hurts to be reminded of that loss.

Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been

At the PBS Annual Meeting I was lucky enough to attend last month, the genius keynote speaker discussed how greatness is the marriage of fanatical discipline and amazing creativity. As I sat there realizing why one of my former employers was no longer relevant, I also recognized why this blog isn't a very good reflection of what I intended it to be in 2003 when I started it.

I have not been disciplined in keeping up with this blog. It has not been a priority. And it's a shame too, because considering when I started this blog, I could've done something spectacular with it had I really given it the time and energy so many of my friends do with their blogs.

Instead, I tend to blog on a monthly (if that) basis to a handful of readers who follow along because they've added me to Google Reader and are surprised I actually posted. There's no engagement, because there's no consistency. I'm too busy waxing poetic about attractive actors or reviewing the latest family movie or declaring my undying love for a literary character to focus on what's supposed to be my most personal outlet. As my 10-year-old son would say, that's crazypants of me.

I want this space, and I don't want it to languish into complete irrelevance. Perhaps it already has, but if a flagging corporation can attempt one final grasp for meaning, I can too. So from now on, I will be dedicating myself to my own thoughts and pointing you in the direction of some of my other work on a more regular basis.

I will tell you about the heartbreaking (grown up!) novel that I read (thank you From Left to Write), and becoming a swim team mom. I will share the sorrow of my son's first dealings with insults from a "friend" and the joy of my daughter's dance recital. It won't be every day -- it will never be every day -- but it will be more, because I have more to say. I hope you find it worth reading.