I grew up in the house my dad was raised in. Story told, he was an only child and was born prematurely. A baby weighing a mere 3 lbs., he was so tiny that his mother carried him on a pillow. Eventually my dad grew into an impressive 6’2” handsome physique.  Years later when I visited Denmark, I discovered that the house my grandfather built was very similar to the architecture in Copenhagen.

Back then, the family tradition was to adorn the Christmas tree with white candles that flickered and shimmered silent movies on the walls. After holiday festivities, the small live evergreen was planted in the front side yard and just as my grandparents marked my dad’s growth with a pencil line on the door frame, the tree marked the passage of time eventually growing giant enough to shade our two-story house.   

My grandparents died at relatively young ages and within six months of each other. My parents were on their honeymoon when the dreaded call came that Svea had died and they returned home right away.

Never having met my grandparents but living in their home, I was very curious about all of the tell-tale signs of their existence.  The antiqued singer sewing machine, the curio cabinet that contained a small red metal tin with dried rose petals and four-leaf clovers that Svea collected on her walks with a yellowed newspaper clipped poem that spoke of love. Their photos on the living room wall and a lovely pearl broach tucked away in my dad’s desk draw.

A stained-glass shade, once a table lamp minus its base, wound up converted into a functional ceiling light. She hung unimaginatively from the front porch ceiling.  Yet, even though perched in such an undignified pose, her loveliness could not be concealed. The way the light illuminated a scene of dark silhouetted trees amid pastel hues of sky captivated the eye, even upside down and inverted. (Perhaps it was the only safe place in a house with six children.)

Years later, the lamp traveled with our family to a new homestead in Vermont. My brother, Tom returned Miss Tiffany to her original beauty by placing her upright in a prominent place on the dining room table. History confirms that she was born in 1914 and although not a Tiffany lamp her name suits her well. She holds a very special place in the hearts of our family as she somehow connects us with our family history and to the grandparents I never met but feel that I know, and they me, and that I  am loved by them, and love them. Such is the mystery and infinite nature of unconditional love.

We carry our family history within us. As caregivers we can bear witness and listen to the sacredness of life as our patients reminisce and share stories that shine through in glimmers of vibrant color or soft hues to reflect the Beauty and mutual unfolding of our glorious and most precious lives.

Reflection by Liz Sorensen Wessel

Watercolor by ~liz