At the time I write this, the news and entertainment media, along with a sizeable public audience, are captivated by the finale of the series, “Succession.”
I haven’t watched the series, but I am fascinated by the very concept of succession. Who and what will come after me, after my human heart ceases to beat, my lungs stop breathing, my brain stops firing neurotransmitters across synapses? I have children, and they have children, and I hope and pray they will continue to thrive. But what will their world look like? Will it be a burned-out shell, like buildings on the streets of Bakhmut? Or will it spread like green fields dotted with wildflowers alongside crystal clear lakes, clambering up the sides of mountains capped with rock and snows that melt in springtime to refresh the rivers?
For more than 50 years, I have fretted about the world that will succeed the one in which I have lived. For years as a young woman, the youngest of my mother’s six kids, I questioned whether to have children of my own. I wondered what kind of lives they would be able to create, while I was witnessing cities burning, wars never ending, leaders being assassinated, lies after lies being told by authorities I was supposed to believe.
I took the leap of faith. I bore two amazing children who are now highly productive adults, and they, in turn, have taken the leap of faith to have children of their own. But my worries are also succeeding me. Deep in the recesses of their dreams, after their own little ones are put to bed, my grown children wonder what kind of world will their children, my grandchildren, inherit? A world of incessant climate disasters? Streets plagued with gun-toting vigilantes seeking potable water?
Or will my grandkids have easy access to fresh vegetables and fruits, plenty to drink, a safe place to live and love, and someday, raise children of their own? Will they be able to watch the magic of a sunrise over open seas without fearing the high tide? Will they hike forest trails through tall trees and not dread an approaching wildfire?
These questions seep into my sleep and torture too many of my ruminations. They have challenged me to sound an alarm, seek problem puzzlers who may offer solutions, provide credible information and reliable guidance toward sustaining earth and the life it supports. My website, my books, and my Green Grandma Blog are my best effort to do what I can for a positive Succession, one my grandchildren can not only endure but celebrate.
