The Rocking Chair

My mom and her husband are moving.  Well, less moving than an extended working vacation.  She is following him around at his new job, which is located in Texas, then Vegas, then California; for now. My mother lives with few material possessions, she lives lightly and is packing up her belongings for storage for when she returns in the future.  She asked me to take two pieces of furniture that she didn't want to put into storage, a hope chest of her grandmother on her father's side, and a rocking chair from her mother's mother.      

Jim brought over the chair today and I put it in Owen's room, because I don't have a chair to rock him in.  I have sat in this chair many times, most recently last week at mom's house.  But today, in my house, with my child, I had a thought.  I wondered if my grandmother ever thought her great granddaughter would be rocking her great-great grandson in this chair? 

I knew my great-grandmother Throckmartin, the first Mary (that I know of).  She was over 40 when she had my grandmother, the second Mary, but she lived to be 95.  Oddly enough, grandma Mary Alice died when she was only 59.  I remember Great-grandma pushing me in her wheelchair (that she didn't really need) at the nursing home.  According to my grandfather, she was not a pleasant woman, but to me, she was a tiny old woman who lived in a tall building and couldn't hear when she took her hearing aids out. I don't really know much about her, born Mary Plafchan around 1896, married in 1919 to Andrew Kubina, had Jennie and Andy.  Her first husband died, and in her 40's, married Roy Throckmartin a police officer originally from Indiana.  I have a feeling that she was not thrilled to be pregnant with my grandma. 

But I think of her as a woman my age, with a young daughter, a baby son.  Did she rock her baby as she nursed him and look deep into his eyes, imagining his future? Were the strains of motherhood making her tired?  The '20's weren't an easy time to be a mother, handwashing diapers, clothes, cooking with no modern conveniences.  I think I have it hard now, but I'm sure any mom back then would be in heaven if she were in my shoes. 
This Grandma is the first, while my daughter is the fifth "Mary".  My mom was called "little" Mary, my grandma Mary Alice, myself the only not official Mary, and my own daughter, Mary Madeline.  I am proud to be in this lineage of women, proud to have passed on the legacy of a strong, beautiful name, proud to sit in the same chair and rock my child.