My eldest, two months ago, welcomed his son into our family. Jax was three weeks early, but completely healthy and fussy. Unlike his daddy, who had been a very chill baby. He had a turbulent adolescence where everyone around him wanted to punch him, but he's very chill after his war.
My youngest had my first two grandchildren. There is barely an hour that goes by that I don't think of them. Annalise and Auggie were so much fun. However, because people are assholes, lying assholes, I haven't seen either of them in nearly two years. Their loss to us cannot be measured. We all miss them terribly and it's an open wound when we have family get-togethers.
My eldest daughter lives three hours away. We get to see her wonderful son via videos and Facetime nearly daily. She makes sure we are connected to Noah, that we know him and he knows us even thought we only get together a few times a year.
I babysat Annalise and Auggie four days a week for a long time. I grew to know them and love them so deeply. It breaks my heart that I will probably never see them again. There are pits in hell designed for parents such as theirs and I hope they suffer every moment like we have.
I am now babysitting Jax three days a week. He's just the cutest thing and a snuggle bug, like Annalise and Auggie were. My entire goal is to keep him out of child warehouses that we call Day Care. I want him to be raised with love and attention. I do that three days a week and his parents do it the other four.
My paternal grandparents were great and they loved me and my sister so much. I know that to my very foundation. Luckily, my mother always wanted to get rid of us on Summer Break and spent us to see them and her own parents. Anything to get rid of us and the responsibility of raising us. Her parents were reserved but, I feel that they loved us as much as it was possible for them to love anyone... I guess. They were not demonstrative, but my grandmother sent me weekly letters until she was to ill to do so. I used to call it Carol's Travelogue. It was also useful information on what was going on in the family my mother had removed us from.
Thus, I have grown up with the surety that someone loved me, because my parents sure as hell didn't. Others did and it filled the hole my parents left. I never realized how much or how many times that love bolstered me through tough times in life. I knew that no matter how badly life was kicking my ass, and it did, a lot, I had people out there supporting me emotionally and hoping I would come out on top.
My grandparents provided me with the love and assurance their dumbass children should have. I knew they loved me no matter what. Were they perfect? Hell no. My paternal grandfather was an alcoholic. My paternal grandmother was a sour and bitter woman, but not with us. Never with us. As a kid I loved visiting them. In my teens, not so much. What teens likes being with their old grandparents? But, as an adult, and I had my own children, I realized just exactly how important they had been in my life. How much they had taught me, influenced me.
My maternal grandfather used to take me out snowmobiling, fishing, and elk hunting. My maternal grandmother taught me the importance of keeping house and cleaning myself up. God, I was such a tomboy.
Without realizing what they were doing, they helped me build a solid core of assurance that has stood me in good stead. It's been there to help me pick myself back up when I'm wrong, when I get kicked down. The only way I could disappoint them was to not try, to not do what I dreamed or wanted.
My son married a woman who had a nine year old son. He's my grandson, he is ours, he is mine. I watch him three days a week after school. He sees me more than he sees his blood grandparents and I feel a responsibility to show him the love they would. It's not a chore by any means. He makes it very easy. He's an incredibly bright and fun boy. My son loves him to pieces, and more importantly, understands him.
My grandparents understood the pressures I was under at home, but they were of the generation that didn't speak of such things, not even to their own misbegotten brats. Even so, they provided a soft place for me to land, so many times, just trying to get away from my mother for fifteen minutes. They would feed me, love me, and I would be good to go again. That is what I want to give to my grandchildren. I love them because I'm not the one raising them. They are there for me to love and hope that love is enough to teach them to make the right decisions, to be good people other people don't wan to punch. My work is important with them. I have the patience now I did not have with their parents.
Does that mean I glory when they are crying? Uh, no. That still rankles, but I'm never too busy to listen to them tell me why they are crying. Does it mean I ignore when they are being bratty? Nope. If they are punished at home, they are punished here. Last week, Bray thought he could scam Minecraft time on the laptop we keep for him here and use his phone, not knowing his mother had already told me he'd gotten in trouble and school and lost his privileges last week. I nearly smiled as his face fell when I explained I knew he was in trouble. He already knew his loss of privilege at home meant none at my house. His behavior at school improved immediately.
I love being Oma. I love my grandchildren greatly. I'm so proud of all of them. I pray almost hourly that I get to see ALL of them soon. We're coming up on family pictures. I want them in it. I may raise a stink, because when you love someone, you will.
No comments:
Post a Comment