“You come from good stock.”

That is what my mom said to me when I was expecting my first child. She said it in that way she had which was not to be questioned. She meant it to be reassuring to me ... that I came from a long line of successful births and healthy babies. Actually that simple statement was reassuring. 

The other day I found myself saying those same words to my two daughters, one who was at the threshold of giving birth to her first, and the other one who may one day be standing at that same threshold.

We had taken the day to grab a much enjoyed winter ritual of looking for eagles. The nearby Fox River has amazingly become a habitat during the coldest months for our nation’s revered symbol. 

The day was bright and just cold enough to be comfortable for our walk (or our waddle as the case may be -- sorry, Molly!). Though our goal was to see eagles, it became less important than the time together to talk and walk and take in the sights. Our togetherness was the heart of the morning. Just me and my girls - how often does that happen these days?

We had turned around on the path and were heading back. We came to the bridge across the river and paused there. I took that moment to tell Maggie and Molly what my mom had said to me. “You come from good stock.” They understood, and it felt like a good moment. It was right then we saw the first eagle. Then another. And another.

The wind had picked up and I believe that provided the lift for those large, magnificent raptors. We were enthralled and grateful and intrigued by their graceful and fluid movements. 

It wasn’t until later that I made a connection. My mom was also very fond of eagles. Her “decor” was riddled with eagles. Maybe not the kind that grace the sky. But rather a reflection of the patriotism that ingrained her spirit. She lived through World War II while in her early 20’s. 

I like to think that my mom was there with us standing on the bridge watching the eagles soar. And witnessing the words she gave her daughter once upon a time ... in turn be passed on to her daughter’s daughters.

Maybe the eagles were not the only ones to soar that morning.