It was old and well used when it came to our house. My great granddaddy purchased that rocking chair for my grandmamma when my momma was born. Her brother, my Uncle Tad, was a fussy baby and rocking him helped soothe him so he probably used it the most.  The wooden arms were scuffed, the finish worn away from years of use. It had a lot of family history and love in its worn wood and fabric.  It is one of those family heirlooms that no one else would think is valuable, but that I’ve looked forward to having handed down to me for many years. For Momma, it holds other memories. For me, it will always be entwined with some very happy memories of her and of my grandmamma.

I don’t remember much about my maternal grandmother. She died when I was seven years old and because we lived at opposite ends of California, I didn’t see her often.  My memories of her are interlaced with stories Momma has related to me and pictures in the family album, so the line is a bit blurred between actual events and echoes of someone else’s recollection.  It really doesn’t matter either way as those things I am certain I lived are my most cherished memories.  The rest just paints a picture of a wonderful woman I’m proud to call Grandmamma.

She held me on her lap and rocked me in the family rocking chair. It is one of my fondest memories of her, softly singing the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine” as we rocked back and forth. Her voice wasn’t strong; she sang it as more of a hushed whisper.  Her hands were gentle yet withered with age and hard work, so strong and yet so frail, too.  I remember the smell of her clothing, sun dried and fresh from the clothesline in the backyard. I remember how safe and special I felt, and how cozy it was to be there in her lap, my head on her chest, her only and treasured granddaughter. To this day, I cannot listen to “You Are My Sunshine” without tearing up. It will always be mine and Grandmamma’s special song and it will always make me nostalgic for a slower, simpler time in my life. Later, Momma brought that rocking chair to our house and she would hold me in her lap and read stories to me or have me read to her. It was our special place and held the treasure of so many happy, cherished times.

I was going to ask Momma for the rocking chair when we started our own family.  I wanted to create those memories for our child and pass on the tradition of being rocked gently in loving arms in the family rocking chair. I had my childhood books picked out, all ready to share for bedtime.  I was going to softly sing “You Are My Sunshine” because the song is such a happy song and so comforting.  Recently, Momma had the rocker reupholstered to match her desert home and so it is going to remain hers for a while longer.  That’s good – she has her own fond memories of the chair and the time isn’t right to pass it on. It made me sad, though, because I realized that there is a good probability that our child will join our family well past the stage of being rocked to sleep. I’m ok with that, mostly. It means we skip diapers and bottles, sleepless nights and potty training. But it also means perhaps they will miss out on this ritual.  I feel cheated, too, and not just for me, but for our child and for Momma.  For that will most likely be one childhood memory not stored in their heart.

I know that I’m being silly. There will be other memories, of our own making that will be just as special.  I just didn’t want the history of the family rocker to end after the third generation.  We can’t reach back into the past and make it what it wasn’t. We can only move forward and forge our way into a brighter future.  Maybe with time and patience, I can share the story of the rocking chair. And perhaps, with a little more patience and understanding, our child will allow us the opportunity to rock them to sleep in the comfort of our arms, knowing that they are part of a family with a rich history that is now their family history, too.