I’m a visual person. A direct line of sight to my target is preferable. When conversing over the phone, you best allow me an equal exchange of commentary or I zoom out, my mind wanders. My hearing comprehension, never too good even from childhood, is measurably aging, weakening. So when my son phoned, and within moments we were arguing, I asked to talk with him face to face. Not to just have it out with him, as some would think, but so I could look into his eyes, examine his facial expressions, monitor the rapidity of his breathing, observe his fidgetiness, or lack thereof.
That’s all he needed to do all those years ago: talk to me, one on one, face to face. No audience.
Is this the place where I tell you his wife didn’t ‘allow’ him to see me alone for fear I’d turn him against his one true love – her? Frankly, I couldn’t have cared less about anyone else. He was my one concern. I had an invested concern for his welfare. As a mother, I thought I had the right to ensure that, or at least inquire. Others were of another opinion, and actively kept us separate. He lives in their territory hundreds of miles away, and they had his ear and mind on a daily basis. They won; I lost – for a time. Does that matter? Don’t know. Maybe they were right. Except that they were wrong.
My son and I are both happy now that we’re communicating again as we’d done for so much of his life. The link was never broken as others intended, just heavily battered and bruised. No matter. He's anxious that we work at becoming one big happy family. Silly boy. That’s not very likely to happen. But those who would intrude on our relationship now know that he is unhappy unless efforts are made to bring us all together. So here we are trying to make a way for that to happen, even if it’s a shaky enterprise built on a landfill foundation of much dirt and a whole lot of trash.
It’s not that I’m looking for this alliance to fail; I just don’t really care any more. The time for that was when I reached out all those years ago, time and time again, and was rejected because I wouldn’t play the game their way. Well, I’m still not, but I’ve grown, and will find ways to compromise – not accommodate. Yep, even at my age, I’m still growing. Imagine that.
Take, for example, the opportunity to meet my grandchild for the first time. My son’s wife was traveling north on business. For whatever reason, she brought her mother and my grandchild with her. During the day, the grandmother babysat while she took care of business at another location away from the hotel. Getting to the hotel was difficult for me, but I found a way there by railroad. I planned to come early and stay a few short hours with the other grandmother, whom I happen to like, and the baby.
But no, that wasn’t to be. When I called my son’s wife to set a date, her immediate reaction was. “Oh, no, I have to be there.” What’d she think I was going to do, abduct her? (Don’t believe I’d’ve gotten away.) Use brain-washing techniques learned the hard way from her, and apply them to the child? (Not enough time.) Now, pay attention, this is where I showed signs of growth. I Did Not Say A Word EXCEPT “Okay.” I set a tentative appointment to arrive after 4pm when she could, apparently, supervise my visitation.
Of course, I fumed, I grumbled, I sulked (happen to own the Sulker Gold Medal). Then I called on my standup friends.
Short story: My posse dropped everything, and came with me to meet my granddaughter the very next day. These friends are classy ladies of sophistication, grace, and intelligence. They’ve proven their loyalty to me (and vice versa) several times. They know how to act.
They were also ready to apply Vaseline to their faces and braid their hair if they had to, and take on the Steel Magnolias on my behalf. They had my back.
So, for the short, but civil, hour I was given, I met the grandchild that I've not bonded with, and may never do so. The time for that was when she came into this world 16 months ago, and I was not invited to welcome her. Upon the door’s opening that evening, however, my granddaughter looked at me over chubby cheeks that only I could donate. She frowned into an intense gaze of soul-piercing, dark brown eyes that demanded “Who the hell are you, and what the freak are you doing here?” It actually tickled me. It was better than a benign smile. She’s no wimp. If as she grows up she ever gets it into her head that I’m her grandmother, and she’s going to love me anyway, well, it’s done. Case closed. I’m fine with that.
That’s all he needed to do all those years ago: talk to me, one on one, face to face. No audience.
Is this the place where I tell you his wife didn’t ‘allow’ him to see me alone for fear I’d turn him against his one true love – her? Frankly, I couldn’t have cared less about anyone else. He was my one concern. I had an invested concern for his welfare. As a mother, I thought I had the right to ensure that, or at least inquire. Others were of another opinion, and actively kept us separate. He lives in their territory hundreds of miles away, and they had his ear and mind on a daily basis. They won; I lost – for a time. Does that matter? Don’t know. Maybe they were right. Except that they were wrong.
My son and I are both happy now that we’re communicating again as we’d done for so much of his life. The link was never broken as others intended, just heavily battered and bruised. No matter. He's anxious that we work at becoming one big happy family. Silly boy. That’s not very likely to happen. But those who would intrude on our relationship now know that he is unhappy unless efforts are made to bring us all together. So here we are trying to make a way for that to happen, even if it’s a shaky enterprise built on a landfill foundation of much dirt and a whole lot of trash.
It’s not that I’m looking for this alliance to fail; I just don’t really care any more. The time for that was when I reached out all those years ago, time and time again, and was rejected because I wouldn’t play the game their way. Well, I’m still not, but I’ve grown, and will find ways to compromise – not accommodate. Yep, even at my age, I’m still growing. Imagine that.
Take, for example, the opportunity to meet my grandchild for the first time. My son’s wife was traveling north on business. For whatever reason, she brought her mother and my grandchild with her. During the day, the grandmother babysat while she took care of business at another location away from the hotel. Getting to the hotel was difficult for me, but I found a way there by railroad. I planned to come early and stay a few short hours with the other grandmother, whom I happen to like, and the baby.
But no, that wasn’t to be. When I called my son’s wife to set a date, her immediate reaction was. “Oh, no, I have to be there.” What’d she think I was going to do, abduct her? (Don’t believe I’d’ve gotten away.) Use brain-washing techniques learned the hard way from her, and apply them to the child? (Not enough time.) Now, pay attention, this is where I showed signs of growth. I Did Not Say A Word EXCEPT “Okay.” I set a tentative appointment to arrive after 4pm when she could, apparently, supervise my visitation.
Of course, I fumed, I grumbled, I sulked (happen to own the Sulker Gold Medal). Then I called on my standup friends.
Short story: My posse dropped everything, and came with me to meet my granddaughter the very next day. These friends are classy ladies of sophistication, grace, and intelligence. They’ve proven their loyalty to me (and vice versa) several times. They know how to act.
They were also ready to apply Vaseline to their faces and braid their hair if they had to, and take on the Steel Magnolias on my behalf. They had my back.
So, for the short, but civil, hour I was given, I met the grandchild that I've not bonded with, and may never do so. The time for that was when she came into this world 16 months ago, and I was not invited to welcome her. Upon the door’s opening that evening, however, my granddaughter looked at me over chubby cheeks that only I could donate. She frowned into an intense gaze of soul-piercing, dark brown eyes that demanded “Who the hell are you, and what the freak are you doing here?” It actually tickled me. It was better than a benign smile. She’s no wimp. If as she grows up she ever gets it into her head that I’m her grandmother, and she’s going to love me anyway, well, it’s done. Case closed. I’m fine with that.
2 comments:
Glad and sad for you, but ever hopeful. Stay gracious and strong.
Diane
Very nice!!
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