Early yesterday morning (or late the night before, depending on what time zone you’re in), I stepped across an important threshold: I became a great-grandmother.

I am in awe for so many reasons. I have lived long enough to see this day – what an absolute privilege it is to age! I have the good fortune of being healthy and active, which is a blessing I take to heart. So many of the women in my family have died at an age much younger than I am now. My own mother was thrilled to live long enough to see her first grandchild born, but died a year later, at 56, just before my second child was born. Her parents, too, died at what I consider a young age (though they all seemed old to me at the time – perceptions change!!)

My granddaughter and her partner seem young to me, and I am not there with them in person, but I admire the way in which they are welcoming their daughter to the world and to our extended family. They chose the name Layla so carefully and respectfully, giving themselves time with their newborn before bestowing her name. We are not going to be posting pictures of Layla on social media, but I am already collecting them, marveling at how babies come into the world with personalities already visible – and I am impressed that her young parents are already aware of her as a person and not just an extension of themselves.

And, of course, this means that my daughter Kirsten is now a grandmother. She has been gone for seven years now, but she has seemed close lately. Always proud of her beauty and strength, she was determined to age well and she would be absolutely thrilled at having a new baby to cuddle and cosset – she loved her babies! I think we are missing her more than ever this week.

I created an altar for Abby’s pregnancy. My daughter, mother, and grandmother, gathered together to bless and welcome this next generation. My grandfather, Dr Frank, was included, and my father is just out of the frame. I am becoming ever more aware of the role my ancestors play in my life, those I remember personally, and those from further back. As an adopted child, I was never certain who to consider my “real” ancestors, but gentle work with all of them, biological and adoptive, over the past few years has brought me healing that I didn’t even know I needed, and connection beyond my wildest dreams.

This is a wonderful time of year, when the veil is thinning and honouring our ancestors feels natural and easy. When Kirsten first died, it was poignant and painful to add her to my ancestor altar, but over these seven years, I have come to appreciate her presence there, and I call on her often. My wild child is as busy on the other side of the veil as she was on this one. And I absolutely believe she is dancing with wild abandon as her own baby crosses the threshold to motherhood and brings our next generation into the world.

My baby altar above shows my grandmother and grandfather Low, a doctor and nurse who worked together in a small town, and together brought a number of babies into the world, my daughter Kirsten, my mother Rowena, and some of the butterflies that seem to appear when Kirsten is near.