four leaf clover

When I am an old woman, I will sit, on an old Irish throw in the park and drink red wine from a big plastic cup, and smile. I will look back on a full life and allow the sunshine to fill my heart when I think of the day I became a grandmother. Imagine my shock, quite a feat, even for me to accomplish, seeing as though I never had children. As I smile and sit, and watch children playing innocently in the distance, I will remember so naively thinking how things would be, if they turned out as I thought they should, and not as they had.

I had dreamed of a day in the park, with wine in a plastic cup and even an old throw, but funny how it had all changed. I would often question why, but accept the answer and smile even more, even if sometimes it was a bit forced. Although my path often seemed a slippery slope littered with banana peels, I knew in my heart that I would do it all again, for the chance to know you.

I will grin as I remember each day, each craft, each drawing you brought me home, so proud to learn, and so proud to be you. As if it were yesterday I remember the day your pediatrician said you were gifted, and “off the charts” intelligent. Although I wanted to take some of the credit, your steam, your desire, and your heart always led you down the right path. Your path.

I also remember the day you got vaccines, four of them, and I thought I would die watching you cry. Although terrified of needles, I watched, to make sure they were clean, and made sure I was there for you, rubbing your back and wiping your tears. And when you screamed and cried, I cried too, (even the nurse cried) and you wiped my tears, and patted me on the shoulder and said everything would be alright. And together we consoled the nurse and told her everything would be okay.

When you came into my life you were small and slight and barely said a word and toppled over often, as most 18 month old babies do. Since I hadn’t prepared to be a Grandmother, or Grandma by Default as I was lovingly called, I had no idea how to change a diaper or what you wanted when you cried. I just knew to be there. And not that it always stopped your nightmares, or tears, but eventually we taught each other that we would be there, as family we would always be there. Always.

Life has a funny way of being there too, and although you were my boyfriend’s grandson (legally) we would raise you as our own, and teach you how to be a gentleman and a gentle man.

I was not always thrilled though, being Grandma by Default and sometimes wished to be more selfish with my time, and my life and my own needs, but as I taught you to share, you taught me right back and sometimes it was a hard lesson that together we learned. We learned about potty training, trick or treating, the special field that is home to thousands of fireflies on the perfect summer night, shooting stars and training wheels. We experienced heartache, and heartbreak and how to heal even when it seems impossible.

We called my mother Nana as I called her mother, and she was more than proud, and Papa too, for being a Papa to someone and for having a 3 foot shadow who could not be happier in his presence. I gave you the special recipe for Nana’s Chicken Soup and taught you how to use a wooden spoon to stir in the magic ingredients. An independent soul, even then you insisted on your own wooden spoon and built lasting memories cooking, baking and making dough with that spoon…one you would cherish for decades to come.

When I turned forty, you turned four and for awhile I felt very old, and tired, and didn’t know how I would ever keep up with you as you grew into a young man.

As a Grandma, (and Grandma by Default, and mother in most ways) I learned though. I taught you special rituals I did with my Mom and my Nana and you took it all in as if even then, you knew how much it would mean to us all. We cooked Polish food in Nana’s “special” pot” and we listened to the Christmas Dragon song on Christmas Eve as I did as a small child. We learned how to relax, imagine, and dream. I taught you about Santa and the reindeer and you taught me to believe in them. All of them. And the year we saw Santa arrive on the fire truck I cried a little, and you rejoiced and Grandpa sighed, and Papa held on as he got out of that big, beautiful truck, to hand you, his special grandson, a candy cane.

Although our family tree was a bit confusing for some, we understood it, and titles often fell by the wayside. We had a common ground, you and I, one that would take many years to explain, and even longer to understand. We did understand the only thing that ever mattered: we were family, and whether it was hard love or soft sugar, it was something special. Something that perhaps a biological family may miss out on, something we worked for and dreamed of, and defended, always. Our love and time together was never taken for granted. We took each moment we were given and cherished it and fought for another, living many days in uncertainty made us stronger and respectful and forged our love in steel. It was something we could never explain, or want to really, it was just ours and we not only valued it, we guarded it and protected it.

On days when it was too nice for school, we would head for the beach. I would teach you to surf, and you would teach me giggle and laugh when water came out my nose. As a grandmother I had much to learn it seemed. I always said I would knit, but never did, shawls were not my style and you would be in college before I was even technically a senior citizen.

Together we would snuggle, and hold hands, and bow heads and learn about life, and death and making sense of it all. Eventually there would be girlfriends and college and careers and less snuggling, but I would understand and let you find your way, just as I did in the beginning. I would learn how to let you topple over, without running to your aid, so that you could learn as life showed you the way.

I would re-learn how to spend time alone, while your Grandfather fished and I worked in the garden, and I would listen to the empty house, and although enjoy the quiet, I would secretly wish to hear your tow truck crashing into your castle made of blocks or you in the background singing one of our many songs that we learned before bedtime.

I would begin to do more and more Grandmother things now, and write more, and read more, and go to the park more and spend more “alone time” with your Grandpa, learning again all about each other. We will smile together knowing our accomplishment and love you for coming into our lives, and changing us…forever.
When I am an old woman, (I will first of all, realize I am not so old) and I will sit, on an old Irish throw in the park and drink wine from a plastic cup, and smile. I will look back on a full life and allow the sunshine to fill my heart when I think of the day I became a grandmother. I will smile because I will have met my soul mate, my best friend and my grandson, and watched as he learned the hard way, and smile with each bump and bruise knowing that it was well earned.

I will raise my cup and toast those who I had dreamed of being there, and smile because I will know Life is always right and although I may not have landed where I thought I would, it would be where I should be, but even still I will still cheers and miss old friends and wish them here, now, always.

Grandpa and I will know, as the sun warms us and the warm winds blow, one of the reasons we were put on this earthly plane, and although we will not take credit, we will take pride in every step you have taken down your own path, knowing that for a short while our paths did merge, and for that….well that has made all the difference….in all of us.

-Christine Brooks
Grandma by default, small wave ambassador, and last straw

Editors Note- although I think I own the name Grandma by Default and maybe even small wave ambassador, last straw is in honor of Frank McCourt and all his work as a teacher, writer and friend to many. I not only honor him, but all those who have lost, survived and grown in 2009. Cheers Biss, for unknowingly letting me borrow and being there with your faith in one hand and your cup in another, ready to celebrate….a time when you wore long skirts and lace collars and I wore Chuck Taylors and soccer shorts. To us!

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 13th, 2010 at 10:06 pm and is filed under Essays.



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