Holly Jolly?

As a young parent I had to be the one to go to my parents in order for my children to build a relationship with their grandparents.

Now as a grandparent I must go to my children in order to see my grandsons.

I have a full time job as does my husband, and my children live over 200 miles away, both from me and each other.

(Most weeks if I can keep up with laundry and we have coffee and eggs in the house I feel like a winner.
Making those drives takes me several days to catch up and physically recover.
I spend almost every day at the edge of exhaustion: this is on me.)

My children also have full time jobs, and the grandkids are heavily involved in team sports and music.

Especially this time of year I struggle with the situation.

–What is it about me that leads to this?

– How long can I maintain the juggling of where to go when?

– This must be my fault: a divorce, the turmoil in our home when they were young, I was so angry and sad all of the time- I broke our bond so I must deserve this.

I’ve stopped asking them to come here, inviting them to visit; it’s too hard to deal with ‘we can’t’.
(Again, especially this time of year I struggle not to hear it as ‘we won’t’ or ‘we don’t want to’ or ‘you aren’t worth it’)

And when I do ask them I can hear the edge of desperation in my voice and wince. I don’t want to guilt them into coming- I know what that feels like; I was there once.
And I do understand their lives, too,; it’s hard, so very hard, to pack up young children and drive somewhere for a short time.
I get it.

Much of the year I feel emotionally healthy enough to deal with this.

During the holidays I don’t.

Pretty sure I’m not alone in this.

If you feel the same way please don’t keep it locked inside; share how you feel with a friend.

Reach out to the people around you for community and support.

Don’t wait to recreate the feelings of close family you ( like me) are reaching for; they may never happen.

Be available to new connections.

Tie a firm knot in the cords of fraying family ties, and hold on to what you do have.

💕 

It Takes A Village

Summer holidays meant a 90-minute trip to Gramma and Grandpap’s house.
There WAS an ‘over the river’ aspect to it,
since we lived in Pittsburgh,
where distance is seldom calculated by miles
and more often described as the number of bridges you would cross.
Getting to their home was a four-bridger for us.

My grandparents once lived in my Gramma’s childhood home,
which was in turn sold to my parents.
Who eventually sold it out of the family during my father’s search-for-meaning phase.
Gramma and Grandpap first lived close by, just a few miles away.
Eventually they moved closer to her sister, my Great Aunt,
and they bought a trailer in a spacious park that had lots only for senior citizens.
Grandpap, I’m sure, chose their lot;
it backed onto a field that was never planted in all the years they lived there.

Plenty of run around space for all of the ‘kiddos’,
and there was a regular parade of visiting children.
Trailer it may be, but Gramma had first her pump organ and then her piano in the living room;
the choir members would practice at their place,
and the family would sing after holiday dinners.
It wasn’t all hymns- the first time I heard Sound of Silence was when Gramma played it in her living room.

There was a two-seater porch swing behind the trailer, it sat three small children or two adults.
Grandpap had the small charcoal grill back there, too.
He had it there to keep it away from the little ones, because they seldom made it that far.
There was too much to see on the front porch.
First an awning, and eventually a fiberglass roof, covered the patio.
A collection of folding chairs and a glider were always there,
and when there was a big gathering we pulled out the dining chairs to accommodate the grown ups.
Kids usually got the front and side steps when the chairs were full.
Big brothers and sisters looked out for the smaller ones,
and a walk around the loop of the park was always a good distraction after dinner.

Moms and aunts did the dishes and filled the collection of containers,
there was always a paper shopping bag to take home with leftovers.
Usually there was someone that smoked, and smoking was always done outside.
I remember when Grandpap stopped smoking:
first his cigarettes, then his ‘stogies’ and last his pipe.
It wasn’t unusual to have at least one grown woman wash her hair after dinner and have it set in pin curls.
Usually it was Gramma, but other female relatives took advantage of the skills of the aunts to have their hair done, too.
The littler girls had the job of unsnapping the curlers from their clips and handing them, with the solemnity of an OR nurse when asked.

I remember when my daughter broke a music box, china and in the shape of a dove.
It was just a little too low for her, and I was sure I had baby-proofed things out of her reach.
Gramma came over and her first thought was that her great granddaughter wasn’t hurt.
I said that I would try to fix it, maybe I could glue it- I knew that Gramma loved it.
She kissed me and said- ‘It’s just a thing, it’s not important.’
And then she kissed Jenn, and smiled.

Goodbyes were said first in the dining room,
then just inside the front door,
then on the top step,
then on the porch.
When I was a child and we left for home,
five kids in the backseat with the bigger holding the smaller,
and two parents in the front seat of the sedan, 
we’d beep the horn as we turned the bend in the road- sure that they were waiting to hear it.
Later, when I was the mom and a trip home meant car seats/blankies/pacifiers,
pack the umbrella stroller,
did you grab the diaper bag,
and WAIT! WHAT ABOUT MONKEY? Who had MONKEY?!-
Gramma and Grandpap would wait patiently at the edge of the walkway until we were all tucked into the car.
I can still see in my minds eye Gramma waving then blowing a kiss.
We would wave back, then beep the horn as we went around the bend in the road.

We had our own village.
Each person knew their role,
knew who would wash, who would dry.
Knew who would bring the barbequed lima bean casserole (sounds horrible, but Aunt Ruth made it magic),
who would bring out and take down the chairs,
who would bring out the TV trays when the number of grandkids,
then the great grandkids, boomed.
We knew why we were there.
We knew everyone there.
Most importantly, we all knew we were loved.

(This post is part of the #31DaysOfWritingChallege2019. The photo shows my stepmother, my Gramma, and my cousin.)