“For 20 years, we packed lunches, helped with homework, and paid too many bills…”
So begins the lament of the empty-nester, in this case, Carl Love, a columnist at my local paper. I can identify. I’ve been providing child care for my two grandbabies for three years now, and each year is a tidal wave of diapers, teething, bottles, binkies, making breakfast and lunch, Play-Doh, stickers, crayons, building blocks, walks w/ and w/o strollers, buckling into carseats and swings, pool, park, naps, monitors, and potty chairs….
And: (take a breath) being greeted with “GRANDMA!!!” when I arrive in the morning, slobbery kisses, sharing a cup and seeing the little one learn to drink from it, reading the same book for the 3rd time in a row and sensing that someone is reluctant to leave the comfort of my lap, pushing on swings, playing in the sandbox, looking for me in a crowd, two babies crowding to get on either side of Grandpa in a recliner so HE can read the same book 3 or 4 times, stealing my Honey Nut Cheerios because they’re sweeter than the ones Mom buys, holding my hand, hugging my legs, stealing my sunglasses, watching Baby Einstein and turning around to grin with delight at the sight of their old buddy, the smiley caterpillar…all of a sudden, it ends. On the last day of Mommy or Daddy’s work year (both are teachers), I kiss the babies goodbye at their door and turn to get into my car, grateful but blinking back tears.
Such a transitional moment conjures reminders of mortality that cast a pall on the otherwise searing brightness of a late-spring afternoon. For all of the challenges, what can I do that is more precious or valuable? Now that I’ll have all that free time, what will be as meaningful? I think this is what Carl was feeling. He’s happy to have done his job well, but after so many days, months, years of a full house and schedule, living within a Short Attention Span movie, dealing with tired muscles/bones/joints and sleep deprivation, it just ends, and then what?
Somehow, it feels like the parade not only passed you by, but the cacophony faded and now you’re standing on the curb, alone in the silence. Questioning your place on the timeline, the existential questions you’ve been too busy to ask. Who are you now, with nobody to raise? And that seems to me the most exciting, frightening, confusing precipice over which to lean. The view could be sublime, if only we dare look.
There is life without kids. We have been married 41 years and did not have kids. We have a great life and I would change anything. You are behind because you have to learn over. We did not. But rest assured kids are not the only thing in this world. There is so much more!
Thanks, Robert. When I wrote the post, I was thinking about people who chose or were unable to have kids. I know it’s not everything. I was the breadwinner/careerist in my family for 30 years, so I know what you mean.
Lynne, I think transitions are always difficult but these precious moments you’ve shared with your little ones are yours ( and theirs) forever. And now you get to rest, rejuvenate and regroup during the summer. The neat part is you will get to experience a whole new stage with new adventures she you return in the fall. Enjoy your break!
Kathy, Bill and I are pinching ourselves. We’re somewhat worried about how to maintain a level of closeness with the babies, but we’re loving being retired again!
For the past year, I’ve had a standing “date” with my granddaughter–a whole day at our house with just the two of us (make that “three of us” after my husband retired). But now she’s in pre-K classes and that day together has been shortened to a few hours. I really miss our leisurely time together! Before, we’d have morning play (usually rock hunts in the back yard, followed by Play-Doh with cookie cutters, and Little People dramas), and then lunch, a couple of stories, and a nap. In the afternoon, we’d walk the neighborhood, read more books, and play with the doll house. Now our activities are limited. I know that my time with her will be less and less as she grows older–and that’s what we want, isn’t it? To have independent children? But I still miss our days together. I can only imagine how difficult the transition from every-day care is for you. I’m sure we’ll both adjust … eventually!
By the way, I’m “Grandma” too, and I love that name.
Sandy, everything you say resonates so powerfully. I will miss those days.
“…the existential questions you’ve been to busy to ask. Who are you now, with nobody to raise? And that seems to me the most exciting, frightening confusing precipice over which to lean.”
When I read your words, Lynne, the following poem came to mind:
COME TO THE EDGE
Come to the edge.
We can’t. We’re afraid.
Come to the edge.
We can’t. We will fall!
Come to the edge.
And they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.
Poem | Christopher Logue. Come to the Edge from New Numbers, pages 65-66. It was originally composed for a poster advertising a Guillaume Apollinaire’s exhibition at the Institute of Contemporary Art in 1961 or 1962, and was titled “Apollinaire Said”. Hence it is often misattributed to Apollinaire.
Yes, Sue. Come to the edge and look at all that lies before you – years and years of thoughtful, joyful life. Change some patterns and reinforce the old, mindfully. Life is good!
How fortunate for your son and daughter-in-law and those grand babies that you able to offer this gift of love. Your closing line, “the view could be sublime, if only we dare look,” says it all. We are always so apprehensive about change . As human beings, we go through so many transitions, and along the way women help bridge the gaps brought about by change.
Pat, they were very appreciative, always. And our reward was hearing the babies (3 1/2 and 2 1/4, what cute ages!) shout “Grandma! Grandpa!” when we’d come to the door. Beyond that, I do think we need to buck up, open our eyes, and set off in our new directions. If only to sit on the patio and see things differently. Thanks for commenting.
And this is when wonderful books are written, meaningful works of art are painted, and lovely items of clothing are made on sewing machines. This is the time to refresh and do what is the other thing is that holds your heart, just for a while, until the day comes again and they happily cry out Grandma, your back!
And the circle is complete.
What a beautiful thought, beautifully expressed, Kathleen. Thanks.