What does it mean to be a Grandma?

I am a year into the whole grandmother thing and I'm almost as bewildered as I was as a parent with a one year old. Is this to be an all consuming new identity or does it get to be a part of my way of seeing who I am in the world?

Talk to different women and I get different answers. 

"You'll love being a grandma!" my neighbor enthusiastically told me. This is a woman who has so much fun with her grandchildren. She plots and plans out wonderful activities for her visiting grandchildren - hosting their curiosity and energy with a huge smile and boundless energy. There is always a sense that she is trying to reassure me that this role of Grandma is the BEST - it is pretty much all she talks about.  I rarely say much during these conversations and that's okay. Maybe that's why she tries to reassure me - she just doesn't realize that I'm not talking because I don't have anything to say, I just don't like to interrupt. I know that being a grandmother is proof that miracles happen.  It may end up looking different for me, but I never doubted the miracle that is a child. 

Another woman, whom I admired tremendously for the work she had done is the world, loves her grandchild, helps out once a week with strict guidance from a neurotic son-in-law. He worries about germs and she (the grandma) delivered countless babies into the world. Her expertise is trumped by her desire to be part of her grandchild's life - and she has patiently built up enough trust with Mr. Neurotic to ease his concerns and continue to build a relationship with the next generation. The burden of proving oneself over and over again wears one down though... right?

My step-sister has a lovely child - and my stepmom, a retired primary grade teacher, commutes every other week to help with daycare. Every other week, she commutes through urban traffic - could be an hour each direction - to watch that little one. She spends the weekend recovering. There are no complaints just joy as she does what she sees needs to be done to help her daughter and son-in-law. But... two plus hours in the car everyday back and forth. I live 90 miles north of my grandbaby. Its usually a two hour drive through urban traffic jams back and forth. That's a lot of driving. Everyday. I don't know how she does it.

In talking with my own mother about being a grandmother - she tells me, rather intensely, that she would 'be there everyday' with her great grandchild if she could. Nothing - nothing at all - is more important than spending time with the little ones. Every day, all day ... I think, wow that's a lot. It certainly was too much back when we were just talking about her grandchildren - my children. 

I know that these small slices of stories aren't all there is to any of these friends and family of mine but these are the bits that I mull over as I compare and contrast my own experience of being a grandmother - and how I want to live my life. Because what we have all not talked about is who we are as women - who also happen to be grandmothers. I want to know if they ever feel the pull to be selfish, if they ever want to say, no, that's too much. Is it all sacrifice, keeping opinions to oneself, devotion to being the best? I don't think so.

Ultimately, I need to acknowledge - and let go of - whatever I've absorbed as the definition of the best grandma. Is it human nature to continually throw oneself up against what other people are doing and judge oneself as worthy of the label "Good Mother" or "Good Grandmother." To compare, compete, to find fault so we feel slightly better - this all happens. Is it human nature to build ourselves up by putting other people down - or - is it in our nature to tear ourselves down by making other people into saints or superheroes? 

Either way, the truth is that only I know what I can do to try my best. I know my energy levels, I know what is possible for my own self - and I really do know what pushes me (in a good way) out of my comfort zone.  The best possible gift I try to give these new parents is support and comfort. I don't act as if I'm expert that knows better than them and I try and get in all the snuggles and playtime I can - when I can.

Maybe I will know what it means to be a grandma over time. It was the same sense I had about motherhood - I could only try my best to learn, grow, balance, and also help three amazingly complex humans reach adulthood. 

I think I did a good job. Not perfect but good enough. I continue to find joy with these children of mine and the little ones that they are bringing into the world as well. 

The most important thing that I remind myself is this: you can't get it back.

Enjoy each moment, spend time with those that you love, do what you can when you can.

The Fourth Generation enters

 I have a new label - its called "being a grandmother."

This precious miracle is now about 8 months old and lights up our lives with his adorableness. As he should. 

Our lives have changed dramatically with this new addition. There is a new awareness of who I am in this family of mine. As my 80-ish. mother struggles with health issues, as I head into my 6th decade - my place, so to speak, in the generational timeline has shifted.  Nothing is lost but our family gains a new mother and father - and a child. Watching my son and his wife go through the metamorphosis that is 'becoming parents', who they are in the world has shifted too.  

When we are young, we are intellectually aware of the way a life cycle works. We watch our older siblings and then ourselves move out into the adult world; we watch our parents age and we see our older family members slow down and finally leave us. It is heartbreaking, we mourn, but it is all still so - out there - on the far horizon.

College, marriage, raising kids, moving for jobs, taking on new careers, chasing after those same kids, keeping a marriage together, being part of an extended family, caregiving, watching kids turn into adults... it goes on, doesn't it? Some children marry and some decide to have children. Not all the children - but some - and I look in the mirror and I see laugh lines. I see deep sadness and great joy. I see how the years have passed and given me a mirror that reflects back on enough good decisions and choices that nourished my family.

Being a grandmother. Elder. It feels like the baton has been passed. I am still and always will be a mom - but its my turn to adapt as I can to how my children need to live their lives for work and family. 

Children are miracles. May this child grow bright and strong in this crazy world.

A Facetime Wedding

My daughter got married in Kuala Lumpur yesterday. Registration for the couple, but now legally wed. Her husband kept saying it was really just a lot of paperwork - the bureaucracy getting its stamp on everything but still...

She found a dress to wear, he wore a jacket and buttoned-down shirt. There were three witnesses and his folks were there. After stamps and photocopies and making sure all the information was correct, they were brought to a little room with a lattice and flower backdrop while a woman read to them the solemnization of marriage - in Bahasa Malayu, the official languages of the country. They had to stand, raise their right hands and swear. They were given a lovely red folder with their registration of marriage certificate. Kisses were exchanges, pictures taken and a celebratory air filled the room.

I watched all of this on Facetime and Zoom. We had four days notice of this event. The paperwork went through relatively fast and my American daughter and her Malaysian husband took the first available appointment to get their marriage registration. 

I cried when she told me. 

I've always said to my kids that however you get married (if that is your choice) - courthouse, church, beach - I want to be there. And... I found out that it doesn't really matter what I want when it comes to how my children have to make choices in their lives. Of course they love and respect me - but they have many different currents to navigate for their own happiness. Ultimately, my faraway child knows that I want her to be happy - and this ceremony in the ministry office was what she needed for peace of mind and happiness.  Even so, I felt - bereft - to be watching such an important moment in my daughter's life from the camera on a cellphone.

And... Thank god for technology. 

I wrote before about change and adapting to new circumstances - well, here I am again. I am so grateful that I could watch and chat with her during her registration process while stricken with the reality of not being able to be present to one of her most important life moments. My husband sat at my side, holding my hand and taking the phone when I had to get more tissue. Our other two children were sharing in the call as well, a running commentary that had their anxious sister in Malaysia laughing and crying too. I've struggled with letting go of the expectations that I would always be able to make my way to her in time for these kinds of events. That I would be there when she needed me. Is it my own family history? My history with my daughter? Or just a plain old sadness. Because isn't that also just part of life?

So I sit back and think about these circumstances and I wonder how different this really is than what so many other people feel as their adult children move out into the world as adults? Growing older seems to necessitate finding the capacity within ourselves to accept our changing roles within the lives of those we love.

I am heading faster than I like towards 60. My husband and I talk about retirement while also taking care of elder parents. And no matter how much I enjoy my post child-rearing years, motherhood is still a huge part of my life. Parenting is over, but my identity as a mother hasn't really shifted in my own head. Until now. 

How do I stop feeling left behind?

Sadness and disappointment are perfectly acceptable emotions. Recognizing the wondrous ability of my children to make their ways into this crazy world - as distinct, fascinating beings in their own right - means that life is going to provide me ample opportunities to readjust my own expectations about what it means to be a mother. 

Juxtaposed with that sadness was a dazzling, beautiful moment of love and commitment for my daughter and her new husband. Letting go of what we think we want can open us up to being present to what really, at the end of the day, matters. Our faraway child found a person that helped her remember just how precious she truly is.

It always seems easier to focus on the loss or scarcity; the fears found within all the "what ifs".  It wouldn't be that hard to carry this maternal sadness as a very present burden. Anxiety and I are old friends. And - the harder path, the re-framing of my mother self with gratitude, love, and a sense of new adventures feels so much better. It makes me feel - younger. And free to also ask what new adventures I want to discover for myself.

The deeper truth is this: I am the only one who can leave myself "behind".

Having my daughter living in south Asia is the definition of a new adventure. One of many.

Again and Again

Over and over in my life, I find those moments when unconscious expectations rise up to taunt me as especially painful.

Those moments when I am confronted with a new circumstance that rouses unspoken expectations. That moment of hitting a wall within that leaves me sprawled out on the floor - metaphorically speaking - trying to figure out where the pain is coming from. 

Oh, is that you, Change? Is that you, Unknown future? I thought we'd had a little chat about jumping out from behind the bushes along this path that I was simply walking down and enjoying. I mean, you did just pull off quite the show with the whole pandemic thing - talk about changing things up fast and furious. 

What am I talking about this time, you ask?

One of my children has flown the coop - and landed in South Asia for the long haul. Love, engagement, happy new life far, far away from our little corner of the Pacific Northwest. And me, being the tangible, kinesthetic learner that I am - needed to be there with her for a month to grok the fact that she isn't coming back. I understood all of this intellectually, but being there, spending time with her and her partner in their world, brought this home to me in a way I hadn't expected.  She's going to live in a part of the world that is a day ahead of me. She plans to have children whom will obviously grow up very far from me. And that's right where the unexpected, implicit expectation rose up - the image I've had in my head about who I will be as a mother and (if we are all so blessed) grandmother - my role in my daughter's life let alone grandchildren's lives. 

Look, I get it - its silly to think we ever really know how we will show up in any future reality; and yet, I think people do this all the time. We plot and plan, daydream, envision future selves as ways to often sleep at night. 

And here's the thing that is most important - just because this expectation rose up for me to grapple with didn't mean that I couldn't embrace that picture/that desire and also gently lay it to rest. Change HAS to be grieved. In order to let go, we need to shed whatever energy has built up that vision in the first place. For me, tears were part of that - but I shared those tears with my husband, not my daughter. My daughter and I cry over other things but not my sadness over her choices to follow her heart and build a life with this amazing man I will soon call son.  

It doesn't feel that long ago when I was making choices as I built my life as an adult. There were a lot of decisions made where I didn't take my parents wants and desires into account. Theirs was an often vague discontent in my mind. Even when we moved up north and took their precious grandbabies with us, I was sad and got an earful - but I was also looking forward into the excitement of a new job, a salary that we could buy a house with and a new place that wasn't the strip malls of southern California.

And that comes full circle. Now, I am the 50+ year old whose children are all grown and out of the house. They are all looking forward into their own lives, building new relationships, planning new adventures. I want them to be happy in their lives, actively pursuing their dreams - and I feel more of a spectator now rather than an active participant. As it probably should be. 

Musing on this grief and sense of change, I also hold my father as an example of how supportive a parent can be as an elder - the main cheerleader, the helper, the listener, the guide when needed. He prioritized building relationships with his grandchildren often by simply being present. He prioritized our ability to help each other with all the mundane things in life that often need a helping hand. He was approachable, available, and collaborative. And he seemed to enjoy creating his own adventures, continually crafting how he wanted to interact with the world - painting, camping, building furniture and volunteering almost everyday at the local elementary school. 

Its not that I need to let go of my children - I need to let go of those pesky expectation and outcomes that somehow cling to my brain. Adaptation takes time, reflection and sometimes, yes, grief.

Balance. Letting go, loving always, building new paths with others and for oneself.

Stormy seas

I've been lost in my own sifting and metabolizing thoughts.

The past eighteen months have been ... 

Tell me, how do we even talk about these past eighteen months? Humans are meaning-making beings that love gathering up a host of disparate experiences and saying "this is what this has been." Trauma, I believe, begins when that meaning making process hasn't found its way up into the surface of our thoughts. We try on different ways to articulate an experience (or many experiences) and it keeps coming up short. 

In the past, this country (and any other country) would build a national narrative of What Happened and How We Move On. What has become clear is that the cultural or social construct of a narrative is always driven by a particular point of view. In today's America, the national narrative is now polarized into two wildly different camps - with millions in the middle who don't dare open their mouths to share their own perspectives. Evangelism is not limited to religion anymore. Everyone is finding a soap box on which to stand and shout down anyone who has different values and beliefs. This is how social constructs are structured - you have to curate your data, marginalize alternative data, dismiss what doesn't fit your model and continue to righteously proclaim your truth. 

In the past 200 odd years, I'd say that we had one primary source of how data was interpreted. Most news was filtered through our government messaging. Outlier stories that poked holes in that national narrative were shut down hard and fast.  I'm reading Daniel James Brown's Facing the Mountain and was sickened by the way Japanese Americans were vilified in the press while not reporting on the mass incarcerations of American citizens in concentration camps throughout the west. 

Today, we have two prevailing sources of data and news - and each side demonizes the other. "Main stream media" is for the lazy left to swallow and Fox News is the fodder for idiots (and prime comedy material for shows like the Daily Show). Somewhere in the middle are the rest of us who read various platforms and often go seeking the details and research that went into what we read. That brings us to the worst rabbit hole: The research and details that can be falsified and provided by anyone out there with a "following."  As someone who has worked with research, I can usually quickly identify sources and studies that are reliable.  And still, I only do that based on factors that might be construed as faulty by someone who has a different point of view.  

Point of View. 

Its not just about having different points of view right now, is it?  The COVID-19 pandemic has created rifts due to the varied ways in which people have seen this virus as a threat.  Fear and vulnerability create strong feelings. Offensive and Defensive actions have to play out. One person's safety protocol is another person's violation of personal freedom.  It then becomes oddly necessary to fight for what one feels is the more essential value. Individual Rights or Protection of Community.  

In the past, how I decided to act in relationship to those factors was just how I was deciding to live my life. My world view governed my actions and I understood that other people - due to their own social, cultural, familial norms - had their own ways of determining belief and value sets. Being able to hold multiple perspectives as possible is a skill that I have tried to hone - but it has come up against the violent and abusive refusal to even try to find any common ground. The experience that my beliefs threaten another person's sense of freedom is strange - especially when those most outraged are affluent white people. 

I don't care if you don't want to get a vaccine - but don't tell me I'm an idiot because I choose to believe that a vaccine might help me stay healthy. If I choose to wear a mask or politely refuse to go eat in a busy restaurant, don't make it about your choices, respect my right to choose. If you are going to large gatherings, please don't get mad at me when I wait to see you for a a number of days. Think about why I might not want to hug you after you get off a plane.

Why indeed. Could it be that I am a caregiver to a beloved elderly parent? Could it be that my husband has identified risk factors that make this virus particularly scary? I also know people who can't get vaccinated for medical reasons - I never assume that I know why anyone has made their choices. 

Its been hard to make sense of how quickly we fall into rabid attacking of the Other when our safety is threatened. I'd venture to say that quality is so fundamental to the biological creatures that we are. The veneer of civility is extremely thin - perhaps already irreparably destroyed. How do we go forward as human beings? As Americans? We need a great deal of courage and compassion.

Stormy seas, indeed. Summer of 2021

Over a Year

Over a year has passed since I last wrote to this blog.
I've wondered why the desire to share my reflections has been so hard to kindle.
And then I realize that I do actually know why: Grief obliterated my capacity to share. When there are no words to describe the indescribable pain of loss - why try and fit those feelings into such imperfect forms like words?
Words and sentences form a story. A narrative of life. I've been completely unwilling to write my father out of the present tense. Not in words nor form nor substance. Not in such a public way that utilizes a few paragraphs to grope towards some sort of incomplete version of what has happened.
There has been a shift in my thinking that no longer needs to put my world into words. Reflective analysis is just dedicated and focused spin on a story of my past.
I may still choose to write about relationships and change - but I can't write about the pain that has permeated my life over the last year. I could perhaps write about the joy. Love. Care. The strong arms that hold me when I need to cry. The warmth of good friendships and amazing children. Travels, adventures, and gardens and cloth.
I don't need to anymore, but I still may choose to.
To those of you who have kept journal over the course of your life, you may understand what I'm talking about. I've spent a lifetime - forty plus years - keeping journals and diaries. Writing became my primary method of processing my emotions. I vented, screamed, raged, and dreamed my life into those journals. I've used journaling and blogging as a way to reflect and ponder, to give a less reactive self the chance to muse about the world that I live in.
Until I couldn't.
There simply were no words that could move with me on the journey of grief. I didn't want to capture moments of suffering that would become snags later. Grief needed to be fluid and unspoken. Heard but not with words wrapped around it. Implicit not explicit. The antithesis of journaling.
And yet, here I am, a little over a year later ... writing.
Because I wanted to reflect on why I haven't been writing. And so I circle back even as I move forward.

Grief and Gratitude

One of the traditions of my family is when we gather around the table at Thanksgiving, every person says what they have been grateful for - usually over the past year.

This year, that tradition is a hard exercise for me to wrap my brain around. Of course I can give homage to all the wonderful blessings that fill my life but its hard to now speak about some of those blessings in the past tense.

Yes, I'm talking about my father. Talking about him in the past tense still feels wrong. The platitudes of grief - "he'll always be with you" - "he's in your heart" - "he's watching over you" - none of these sentiments have meaning to me. Maybe they will - but not yet. I have yet to see him as anything other than the man he was - separate, vivid, uniquely himself. To give him some sort of mystical role or to incorporate him into my own self can't happen when I'm still experiencing him as a real human being.

And because I still feel that way, the loss continues to be profound.