If I died today I would die happy. That is how I felt on the way home from a recent road trip with my daughter, Djuna, and her daughter, Dakota. Our destination was Cour d'Alene, Idaho and our goal was to visit my sister and her family. Although both Djuna and I had looked forward to the trip with delicious anticipation I had no idea how affected I would be by our adventure.

The first road trip I took with my kids was when my son, Dustin was six months old and Djuna was two and half. I had sold everything I owned, bought a car, a couple of car seats and a tent and drove from White Rock to Nelson (both in B.C., Canada), to find a new home for the three of us.

Now, 32 years later Djuna and I and her 3 1/2 month old daughter headed off on another adventure. This time I was not responsible for my child's life and well-being. We were equals. We were two adults responsible for ourselves yet looking out for, and caring for each other. Except for a few minutes of tension one morning we enjoyed each other's company and felt more like friends than mother and daughter.

We pooled our money and plotted fun spending strategies. We talked ourselves silly, enjoyed the same need for treat breaks and we shared caring for Dakota like we had been doing it for years, not months.

Spending time with my sister, Margaret, and her daughter, Sarah evoked a certain feeling of timelessness. When Margaret and I were young single mothers we spent a lot of time together. Although she lived in Spokane, Washington and I lived in Nelson, B.C. it was only a three hour drive between cities. We offered each other moral support through those challenging years. Our children are each two years apart with Sarah being the oldest.

So there we were - two of our three children, both beautiful, grown women, and a third generation; baby Dakota. Margaret and I could not help but reminisce. Was it really over 32 years ago that we were young mothers with nursing babies?

Margaret owns a baby store, Mother's Haven, and she has a passion for supporting mother's to breastfeed and nurture their babies by keeping them close to their bodies and carried in some sort of wrap or sling whenever possible. When she had baby Dakota snuggled close to her in a Moby wrap she was in heaven. Finally a wee family member to hold close.

What makes my heart sing is watching Djuna love her baby. When she looks at Dakota or talks about her she glows. Dakota is greeted with a loving smile the moment she opens her eyes even in the middle of the night when Djuna is exhausted. She has a powerful love for her baby and it shows in Dakota's easy smile and her quick trust of those around her. Djuna is a fabulous mother.

Being a grandmother has filled me up in ways I had not imagined. Before Dakota's birth I was surrounded by women who had the fire of grandmother love in their eyes. But like motherhood, being a grandmother has to be experienced to be known. I now know the potency of passing the motherhood torch through the generations.

After I dropped Djuna and Dakota off at their home and drove the few kilometres to my house I felt totally fulfilled - filled to overflowing with joy. If this was indeed the last day of my life I would have left with a smile.