Thirty-two years have passed since our firstborn landed into our domestic bliss. What plans I had when I first held him! I would raise up this child the way children SHOULD be raised. I would not make the mistakes of my parents. I would show love when love was needed and discipline when firmness was in order. I would provide this child with all the opportunities he deserved and he would grow up to conquer the world. My resolve was replaced by exhaustion before the first fortnight was over but in spite of his perfect upbringing my son has grown into a man I am proud of. In hindsight, I can appreciate the wisdom of the two people whose mistakes I vowed not to repeat.
Three decades later I hold my grandson and remember, like it was yesterday, as they say, how I felt when I first held my son. What is it about this helpless, tiny person that confirms the existence of God to me? No cosmic coincidence has dropped this dependent little creature, perfectly formed and already with a mind of his own, into my life. After counting fingers and toes and feeling relief the numbers add up correctly, I confirm all other features are in their proper place and notice the resemblance to various family members, happily, mostly the ones I like. Yes, there is a God.
Ask any grandmother and they will tell you their grandchild is the smartest, prettiest, most amazing creature ever made. If they are too modest to verbalize it, they will think it nonetheless. I confess, I am not above this particular blindness. This child of my child, with his black, sticky-up hair, dark eyes, olive skin and pouty mouth, is without equal among mortals. Excepting of course two seven-year-old girls, one his sister and the other his cousin .
I feel supremely blessed these days. The past three decades hold many wonderful times. They also hold times I would like to forget, much less repeat. The children I vowed to protect with my life grew old enough to make their own decisions. I watched for a decade as my own little girl, grown-up, but still my little girl, passed through valleys that would have challenged the strongest among us. She came through with a strength that humbled me and brought with her a baby girl of her own, the first of my beautiful granddaughters. Proof that difficult times come with their own compensations.
It is impossible to prevent all negative experiences from touching those you love. Many times I wondered why God had ever trusted me with another life. When my failures to protect, to guide, to do the right thing, fell woefully short. When all I wanted to do was keep the world at bay. I would make a much better parent now then I did then. Herein lies the conundrum: I would make a better parent now because I practiced in blissful ignorance on my own children for years. Thanks to the mercy of God, they came through relatively unscathed. I hope.
And within the span of nine days we have two new miracles to enjoy. Two more small bundles of sweetness and warmth. Two little bodies that will grow until they, too, reach independence. How wonderful and how frightening. Nothing and no one has more power to inflict pain and joy into the heart of a mother and a grandmother than those whose lives gave her the titles in the first place.
