Being Grandmother

I guess being a grandmother can be a state of mind and heart as well as a biological fact. When we come to it early, we may resist for a while the fact of being an elder, as we resist the softening of body...graying of hair...accumulation of wrinkles...calming of libido and motivation. But gradually, as we move through the motions of helping with our children's children...turning into comforter and confidant, something takes root within us. It is a relationship like none other...for the child as well as for his/her grandmother.

I speak for the female side of the equation because that is what I am, and what I am familiar with. Fathers and grandfathers have been somewhat scarce in my experience and in that of my children.

When I think of my mother, I think of how beautifully she fit that role of grandmother...to mine and my sibling's children as well as an enormous passel of extras. (She had been an adored first grade teacher for most of her adult life.) She was comfortable, my mother. The soft round contours of her body and the flowing mane of silver hair (mostly worn in a bun) suited her well. She was beautiful and deeply loved and depended upon up to the day she died. Every man or woman who passed through my life fell in love with my mother. She was irresistibly intelligent and wise...not to mention the comfortable element. She might have worn a sign saying: "Be yourself with me. Whether I approve or not, I will accept and love you." You could sort of relax into softness.

I have been a grandmother for nearly nineteen years. Olivia was the first, then Wyatt. Those are Moira's. Later, my son, Vanja's two came along. Julia and Bryce are eight and four. I won't say grand-mothering is easy or without its complexities. The energy of old versus young can be a daunting reality. But I begin to see something bigger: perhaps the privilege of being loved in my older, softer, more vulnerable self. The young are vulnerable, too, though beginning to toughen up to cope with the world's reality. The really young are only beginning to get that message.

I am getting to know my younger set as I once got to know my older set. Julia begins to lean into me as Olivia once did (sometimes still does). Her leaning...her wakening to the rules of the world while needing comfort and guidance, can sometimes waken old hurts in me even as I receive her trust, and her sometimes tearful gaze. Yet because of this, compassion is based on truth. Love is based on understanding.

I never really thought of these things when my mother was alive and epitomizing the grandmother image. Not so much about my dear mama's inner world... But now as I look at look at this photo of little Julia leaning into me, I am seeing my mother as well as myself. I, too, have grown soft and silver haired...perhaps even beautiful to those I love.