What Is A Grandmother?
I find the idea of being a grandmother complex. Firstly, because I am I’m still mopping up the damage created by the choices I made as a mother. And secondly, I have spent hours in therapy focused on self-forgiveness because of those choices. I also don’t have any idea what type of grandmother I want to be. Do I want to visit daily? Weekly? Live on the other side of the planet and visit yearly?
One evening in our flat in Florence I announced to Peter that I needed to go back to California and try out the ‘grandmother’ role. I have three grandchildren between the ages of eleven months and three years. During the year we lived in Europe, I kept defaulting to one of my familiar emotional states regarding being a grandmother– guilt. Guilt about living so far away. I need to find out what being a grandmother meant to me.”
He agreed and we returned at the end of January. Peter was able to work at his job in Berlin virtually with a couple of planned trips to Berlin. I would remain in the States and explore the grandmother role.
Back in California on a Monday morning at 6:00 am, my coffee mug was glued to my hand as I slowly sipped the brewed Major Dickenson brand from Pete’s. As always, I woke up early. Often at 5 am. I am like a ping pong ball in the morning, up and out of bed. Recently, I added to my morning routine, meditating for ten minutes. I envisioned that the chatter in my mind was a wild monkey jumping about inside my head. As I breathed, I imagined I grabbed the monkey and sat the monkey next to me on a park bench. Together we attempted to sit calmly. It rarely worked beyond about 30 seconds. The monkey would escape and run through my mind, chattering.
The phone rang. It was my youngest daughter. She and her husband are corporate lawyers and have a one-year-old daughter.
“Our daughter is sick, I’m in court today and my dear husband is negotiating a case. Can you help? Can you be here in an hour?” my daughter asked.
Unlikely I thought, I live 75 minutes away, with low traffic, and there will be traffic at 6 am. I began to wonder if adult children see us as people with our own lives. Or do they think we sit waiting for our phones to ring or texts to buzz and drop everything to fulfill the grandmother role?
“I have therapy now.”
“Mom, It’s 6 am”
“My therapist is in Oslo, Norway.”
“Really? Okay, I don’t want to know. Can you come immediately after your therapy?”
“And then there is traffic, commuter traffic. I could be there in two and a half hours. What about your mother-in-law? She lives around the corner?” I used to be jealous of her being so close. That feeling has expired.
“She has a doctor’s appointment she has waited months to get”. Was the reply.
I agreed. Because that is what I am supposed to do. I got into the car, sat in horrific traffic and appeared on their doorstep. Her husband was waiting for me when I arrived, informing me that he had made a doctor’s appointment for my granddaughter and could I take her to the appointment.
“Her car seat is in the Jeep, and I will put the location into your phone”, he informed me whilst my grandaughter screamed in the background. I had never driven a Jeep. Not only was that a challenging thought but also the thought that this was a lot of new information coming at me at full speed and I had only had one coffee. Regardless, I wanted to appear cool, as if nothing was a big deal, so I kept repeating the expression ‘no problem’.
“Thank you so much. I must go. In the middle of an urgent call.” And he ran off yelling that the keys, which apparently, I did not need to turn the car on were in the glove compartment.
I climbed into the Jeep. It was like a tank. I felt like I was in a war movie, worried that the garbage can I had just knocked over as I reversed out of the driveway would blow up. As I continued to reverse out of the driveway I looked into my mirror at my granddaughter. She was turning red and pressing. That was her – ‘I’m going to take a shit face.’ As she continued to press down, I was able to get us onto the freeway and in the direction of the doctor’s office.
I was required to text the doctor’s office when I arrived. I received a reply from the office telling me to stay in the car until they could come down and administer a covid test. The car stunk and my granddaughter was visibly uncomfortable. I climbed into the back seat to attempt to change her diaper. The seat was piled up with toys, clothes, old food, and dog biscuits. I do not recall teaching my daughter to be such a mess. I fiddled with the latch on the child’s seat. Who invented such things? Childproof, adult proof, kidnapper proof, I don’t think anyone can undo these with ease. Finally, I got one side undone and slipped her out of the strap that was still locked. She screamed and kicked me as I attempted to pull her trousers off. The shit had seeped out of the side of the diaper. What had she eaten for breakfast, prunes? Suddenly I realized there was a face peering into the window. The nurse waved the covid test. I opened the window and she said,’
“I’ll just poke it into her nose and let you finish the diaper,” My granddaughter screamed louder than before, kicking her diaper onto my trousers. The shit side of her diaper stuck to my trouser leg. Denial took over and all I could think about was that I wished I had had a second cup of coffee.
She screamed the entire visit. “Just a common cold”, said the doctor. “These kids get one cold after the other.”
I climbed back into the tank with my granddaughter. Unable to get the car seat clip right I tied the strap around her and managed to clip one side. I felt heroic. I had completed my good grandmother task of the day. She fell asleep on the way home and I pulled into a drive-in Starbucks. With my dear granddaughter asleep and me sipping coffee I sat in the driveway for two hours. I was frightened that if I moved her, she would wake up. I needed the quiet time.
For some grandmothers being needed is a fulfilling purpose. I struggle.
