An Attitude of Gratitude

Recently, I have used my journal practice to focus on gratitude. I have had much time (pandemic pauses) to pause and reflect on my current situation in respect to the angst, strife, and division in the world. While things are not wholly perfect on my end, I am grateful for my portion. As I journal daily, even weekly, I find it easier each morning to greet the day when I meet it an attitude of gratitude. It has affected my outlook on the world and the events that take place.

I am at peace with this current focus, as it connects me with my grandmother who met each day with a smile and grace. I loved that about her. As a young child, she would share moments of her life in Charleston, South Carolina (childhood) and early Miami, Florida (young married life). My grandmother was the grandchild of slaves and the child of farmers (sharecroppers?). Her early childhood was of farm work before and after school. Her family lived during the Spanish Flu, with the latter having a devastating effect on her parents. Both of her parents died before she was a teenager, leaving her to raise her younger brother. This forced her to drop out of school in grade school. As a young Black girl—in the country, that meant she had to marry at a young age for security and basic necessities.

By the time my sister and I were born, she was twice widowed, but sill raised my mother through cotillions, nursing school, and beauty school. …none of which my mother ever finished. Still, my grandmother supported my mother through whatever was her desire, and eventually our dreams and goals, as well. As a child, I had a treasure chest of possibilities and hope was ever-present. My grandmother was a maker, a creator, and my greatest motivator. I had to be great (in her eyes) because she believed I could be.

In spite of the hand that life dealt my grandmother, she never wore it as a badge. She talked so lovingly of her childhood before her parents’ death. Her eyes would glaze as she remembered her farm “pets,” that later would be food during the time of scarcity. I could sense sadness—but no anger or bitterness. Instead she pushed through with hard work, gratitude and love. After living on a farm and during the time of the Spanish Flu pandemic, she was grateful for the access to food everywhere (stores and local U-Pick farms). She loved cooking for us. If we ever expressed a desire for anything, she would lovingly cook it for us. I grew up thinking it was normal for everyone to have a different breakfast meal in the morning: I could have cream of wheat, my sister grits and eggs, and my cousins whatever they wanted, as well. Good, fresh, home-cooked food overflowed in our home. As for pets, I had every pet that you could imagine—from cats and dogs, to hamsters, birds, and rabbits.

Years later, realized that our “bounty” was a result of my grandmother’s childhood trauma—the early loss of parents, the Spanish Flu pandemic, scarcity of food, loss of pets, and the loss of access to school. She made sure that her losses were gains—access points, for her children and grandchildren. We were loved. We were wanted, and knew it every day.

My grandmother was never hopeless—always hopeful. …always grateful.

She lived a life of grace and gratitude.

There is no way that I could ever give up, or let despair take over. It would be an insult to her legacy.

As I reflect on her life and legacy, I am grateful for my time with her.

I am grateful for my portion.