When I found out I was pregnant, one of the first conversations Evan and I had about the coming baby was what name we would attach to it. The conversation continued over the course of several months but fairly early on I issued a declaration: "If we have a girl, her middle name will be Marjorie, after my grandmother. If we have a boy, his middle name will be Miles, after my grandfather."
I had great affection for my grandmother (my dad's mom) and liked that I was often compared to her, even when those comparisons involved character flaws, such as being indecisive. [I have since worked much harder to always know the kind of salad dressing I wanted before giving my order at a restaurant.] I was recently talking to my mom, who said, "You look so much like Grammie did." I can't really say that I see the physical resemblance, but I'm happy to have it made.
Many of my cousins were probably closer with Grammie than I was, owing to geographical proximity. This is something I regret. Especially now that I am a mother I wish I knew so many more things about her. Did she breastfeed, for instance? My dad was her oldest child (after an initial miscarriage). Here is a picture of them, taken in 1949 in Hyderabad, India.
The back of the photo has her handwriting on it: "July 4, 1949. On the porch of the Hyderabad bungalow."
Grammie's birthday recently passed -- on April 3. I had hoped that Iris would be born on April 3, when I found out her due date was April 10. When April 3 passed and I had still not given birth, I then hoped that I would give birth on the day Grammie died, but Iris couldn't wait that long. Grammie died on April 13, 2013, two days after Iris was born.
I look forward to telling Iris about her. I have the photo of Grammie and my dad in Iris's room along with the prayer that Grammie wrote for me on the back of the stock advertising paper they put in picture frames:
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