When I was seven years old, my mother and I spent the entire summer with my grandparents, back home, in the Caribbean. The summer was filled with countless aunts, uncles, cousins, sun, palm trees, and glorious food. Every activity and everyone revolved around my grandmother, the matriarch. What I remember most about my grandmother was her hands: ripened, sun-kissed, gentle, adept and warm. Her touch was soothing, confident, maternal.
I come from a big family. Grandma had 10 children, who each had about 2.5 children who each had 1.5 children.
That summer Grandma and I talked about many things, but what she talked about the most was the value of motherhood. “You are going to love being a mother one day,” she said over and over again.