Wonder, Reborn

Everybody says that grandparenting is eye opening, a huge perspective shift from parenting, for multiple reasons. The big one is always, “You get to love ‘em and spoil ‘em and then you get to give ‘em back!” I’m a little over three years into experiencing life as a grandmother now, and for sure it’s rocking my world – but in some different ways than I anticipated.

I knew that deep down I wanted to replicate all the best parts of my relationship with my paternal grandmother, who adored me and who I adored in return. She was my safe space, and still occupies a huge portion of my heart.

I knew that I wanted to shower my grandkids with love and attention and affection like my parents did for my five; I wanted to be present, and known, and to show up for things that mattered.

But I had no idea how it would really go, and I could not take for granted that my expectations would manifest into anything like reality. While my daughter was pregnant, I struggled with worrying about whether or not my future grandchild would know me – or, to be honest, would like me. We’d be living many miles apart; what if there was no connection, or a coldness or reluctance to engage?

Well, here we are; over forty months into this natural progression of life and family, and at this very moment I am overwhelmed with a gratitude that I would almost swear has literally caused my heart to swell within me. I have the blessed good fortune to be staying with my first grandchild, helping care for her as Mom and Dad welcome a sibling to the family. You might have felt the earth tremble a bit earlier this afternoon, a seismic explosion of love upon hearing her say, “Grandma, you are my best friend. I love you so much!” as we made cookies together. (Of course, thus far I’ve heard her tell three different people that they were her best friend – but who’s counting? It’s pretty awesome to be included.😆) That’s the thing, isn’t it, for all of us grandparents? Our hearts burst because some little three-foot tall munchkin who still needs help putting their pants on thinks we’re awesome, and trusts us, and tells us so.

That’s a singular gift of knowing a child well, for sure – to be loved, with innocence and trust and transparency. And I think it matters so much more, from a perspective tempered by age, seasoned with grace, and expanded by experience: We know how precious, how rare, how exceedingly wonderful this is.

Because the world awaits.

Most of us started like this; innocent, comfortable in our skin, hopefully cared for well by people we trusted. This evening I watched a three-year old delight in the very act of being alive; running downhill, non-stop, just to race – and then doing it again and again and again, because a couple adults were willing to hold their arms out and be a finish line. Again and again and again.

What a gift, to be alive.

(I cannot write those words without expressing my sorrow that so many of us didn’t have safe childhoods; much love for those who got less than they deserved.)

Tonight as I read bedtime stories and snuggled with my granddaughter after turning out the light, I had a rather momentous understanding – a shift in perspective related to my own mothering of my five kids. There is an ever-present awareness of the awe and wonder with which I see this child – her talking and jumping and running and exploring and inventing and trying and questioning and defying and simply being alive. I always thought that wonder was the grandparent thing of old age, appreciation, getting to ‘give them back’ – a bunch of amorphous feelings that went along with, essentially, being old.

That’s not it.

At least, not for me.

It came in this lighting bolt moment of understanding tonight: She’s not mine.

She’s not mine; no more than any of the five I birthed were mine. This is a person – a unique, autonomous human being who has, even at three years old, a singular perpsective on what it means to be Her. I’m on the sidelines, her parents will work hard with and for her for eighteen or so years – but this life belongs to her.

THAT is the wonder.

This is probably no revelation at all to some of the more well-adjusted parents I know, but it’s a huge developmental lightbulb for me. I suspect it’s tied to this larger morass of stuff bubbling to the surface regarding Bill Gothard’s teaching and IBLP and the deep, deep patriarchy that impacted my early parenting journey more than I obviously ever realized. I have equated my role as mother to my five with some level of control and responsibility for their lives which has been unhealthy and unhelpful – likely for them as well as for me. That’s wrapped up in something very unhealthy from the influences around my marriage to my kids’ dad, still untapped…

It’s also tied to something a counselor told me about a month ago: There’s a significant difference between mothering and parenting; one of those roles has a definitive time limit.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and tonight something snapped into place. Rather than cause concern or sorrow, it was incredibly freeing – and, again, that’s the wonder.

I have a role to play in Junie’s world, but her life belongs to her. At this stage, I get to take some responsibility for influencing her (obviously not nearly to the degree her parents do, but I get to be part of her world, which I don’t take lightly) – but her life is her own.

I parented my five as best I could, with a heck of a lot of failing and falling short – but they all made it to adulthood intact, and at that point, my primary responsibility was to let go. Release them, and release myself from feeling responsible for their joy, their sorrow, their success, their failure, their health, their anxiety, their own failures and falling short. I haven’t necessarily done that well.

Again, I know a lot of people got that early on, and executed easily. I did not; but here’s the thing about a life soaked in grace: We get what we need, when we need it. And, if we’re listening well, we might hear something that shifts everything – for the good of everybody involved.

Tonight, after finishing Chapter Seven of ‘My Father’s Dragon’, turning out the light, and cuddling a damp-haired toddler, I got exactly what I needed. And I am grateful, and full of wonder.