I looked out at her and felt the tears start to fill my eyes. I’m not one to cry over small little details in life, but this was one I couldn’t resist. It wasn’t the first time my daughter rode a bike. But it was the first time we rode together. We went together on a family bike ride around a local lake and the girl who cried going down a miniature hill in our driveway just weeks before was now without fear zipping around turns and speeding down slopes.
It wasn’t just pride that made me tear up. It was the fact that today marks the 3-year anniversary of the death of my grandmother. The woman who lived in my house my entire life. The woman who taught me that tea really does heal wounds. And the woman who never leaves my mind. Every single day I think of her.
She would have beamed seeing my daughter peddling around that lake. She would have been amazed at her courage, at her determination. And because she was a nervous little Italian Catholic grandmother, she probably would have asked if her helmet was on properly and if we should make her wear knee pads.
So today my daughter made this day happy for me. She made me smile, she made me laugh and she made me happy. Just like my grandmother did.
