My Nana

This sweet baby that continues to grow and kick in my womb (or her womb...?) is named after both her Great grandmothers and another great, great, great grandmother. This little girl that kicks like a maniac will have a name that carries a great honor.  For the two women: one I didn't know and one that I knew and she knew me well. And if history repeats itself from the lives both women lived, she's going to be one stubborn, opinionated, self-reliant, and compassionate girl.  I can't wait to meet her.

Several weeks ago, I had an incredible experience. It was an ordinary night, doing the dishes with my two daughters and talking about their interests and such.  I mean, the conversation wasn't earth shattering.  It was just normal conversation I'd expect to have with my children.

Then I stopped drying the dish I was drying.  It was a feeling so overwhelming and warm, it caught me offguard. I tried to explain this to my husband, but at the time, I just couldn't describe it. I just knew at that moment it was someone.  Someone that loved me, loved us, immensely. They knew me really well. Which is why when I recognized who it was, the tears streamed down my face (as they are now).

It was my Nana.

My Nana committed suicide several years before I was born. I never knew her in this life.

Her warmth overwhelmed me and she gave me the intense feeling of how proud she was of me, of my husband and I, for what we are building and trying to create in our family and the world around us.

There are no words to describe that tender mercy.

I bring this up because I was reading a sweet post someone, who I don't know, posted about and I recognized those similar feelings. Beware, you'll cry.