Just a few decades ago, I clutched my mother’s hand as we crossed the road. I looked neither left nor right, I just held on to her hand, never doubting she would get me across safely. A flash in time, and then it was she clutching my hand as I navigated her through the crowded road and on to the safety of the footpath. She never looked around; she just held my hand.

Today, I have another hand in mine, many sizes smaller and many years younger, and we sail through the crowded streets. The owner of the little hand looks neither left nor right, she knows that as long as she holds on she is fine. One day when I am old and my reflexes are no longer so quick, I know this little hand will have grown strong enough to take mine in hers... And when I am gone, I know she will have another little hand in hers, and looking neither left nor right, they will just sail....

So, what is the point? I don’t really know. It’s just that on a quiet evening when the birds have stopped their chatter and the sun is setting and the world seems at peace, I remember my mother and I am so grateful. So grateful for the knowledge that what she gave me was intangible, yet rock solid. So grateful for the understanding that whatever I am, however imperfect, her love was never in question. So grateful for the knowledge that in this transient world some things do stand constant. And, so grateful that I have this legacy to pass on to my own daughters.

All of yesterday, the third in my all-girl troika badgered me to tell her a story. The more she did, the more disinclined I felt. I tried bribes of every kind until finally she wandered away disconsolately. The guilt did not come until later. Weary after a long day, I looked into her bedroom and saw her fast asleep, mouth slightly agape, one chubby hand clutching a frazzled teddy bear, the day’s trials all forgotten. I looked at her innocence, it seemed just yesterday when I was the one asleep, and my mother stood watching me. I do not remember the story she told me but I remember the warm scent of her, I remember cuddling into the softness of her and I remember that as I drifted into sleep, all was right with my small world.

For a moment in the business of living, I had forgotten my precious legacy. But the morning will come and I am grateful for a second chance.