The Treasures of Aging: Grandchildren

 Treasures in my arms!

When my only child, my daughter, was expecting her first child I was as focused on her as she was on the child she was carrying.  I watched her move through her pregnancy with grace, her eager anticipation of the life as a mother she had chosen with love, and I rejoiced even as I watched over her carefully.  I made suggestions about diet and such until I realized she was doing her own research and doing a very good job of it.  So then I listened and agreed and supported her as she moves through the months.  

When the day of her baby's birth arrived I was near her in the hospital.  My daughter and her husband had decided that no one but the nurses and doctor was to be with them in the delivery room for their labor and birth, so I was in the closest waiting room all day.  A few times her husband came to get me, but only when she asked to see me, and in those times I held her hand, comforted her as a mother knows to do for her child, then removed myself again to allow husband and wife to experience this entrance into their parenting together as a team.  All the time I was asking myself, was my child doing ok? Was she going to be ok through this time?  When I was in the room during the latter stages I watched her express her discomfort and exhaustion and heard her moans, not with complaints, but with the matter-of-factness of the reality that birthing is a struggle. Her husband fully supported her, physically supported her, as she swayed bravely within the brutal dance of birth that gripped her body. She worked so hard to stay in harmony with her body as it expanded miraculously to allow the passage of a full term healthy baby, and I knew she was going to be alright.  I was not there for the moment of her birth, but when the new daddy came to get me to meet my new granddaughter, I was eager to see my daughter and hold her tight.  

But when I came into the room my daughter did not look to me for anything.  She needed no comforting nor praise nor anything at all from me.  Her eyes were only for the babe in her arms, red-faced and open-eyed and, already, latched on to her mama's breast.  Finally my daughter looked up, not to me but to her husband, and handed the child to him, and he handed her to me.

When I first held my grandchild, I fell in love.  I fell in love with that baby with every ounce of my being just as I had been smitten by her mama when she was born.  I had forgotten that kind of love, but now it rushed back.  But it was not exactly the same.  This baby was MY grandchild, yes, to love and to protect.  But her primary protectors were her parents, who stood by with their loving eyes captured by her little being, and she was THEIR baby.  It was not my responsibility to care for this child every minute of every day; it was theirs.  And since they fully, and so clearly, accepted that responsibility with love and joy the difference between my love for this little sprite and theirs was that I was part of her circle of caring; part of her extended family:  I was not the center of her universe.  Her parents are.  A new kind of joy awaited me in watching her grow.  My own child had moved from Maiden to become a Mother, not all at once with the birth, but through the months that preceded the birth, and probably during years before that while she laid her groundwork. She had made her own passage.

When I finally looked up from my little grandchild's face, with tears in my eyes, my daughter was looking at me.  She had been watching with pride and happiness as I fell in love with her wee child, and the look she gave me was one of approval and acceptance.  A Mother's love coming from my child to me, and in that gaze I now realize I saw not only my girl's Mother, but also her budding Queen.  And I was at peace.

As a grandmother, I now know myself as a Crone.

But I have not relinquished the Queen in me, nor the Mother in me, nor the Girl in me.  Those three aspects of myself which proceeded the Crone are still alive and active.  My Girlish self plays joyfully with my (now three) grandchildren, romping in the yard, pretending to be pioneers in the imaginary kitchen in the arbor making mud pies, learning together how to make piñatas for birthdays, baking cookies or playing chess.  I'm still Mother to my daughter, and to my grandkids when they are alone with me and need a bandaid or a comforting lap to sit in. Sometimes my mothering self extends to other young people, or to my peers when a nurturer is needed.  My Queen still reigns in her glorious, dignified, sexy self and is ever present.  I want my grandkids to see my Queen self and to claim her inherent dignity and richness of being for their own lives.  Being the Wise Crone who sees all that and sees beyond what I've seen before is an addition to the woman I have always been.  It's not a departure.

Women's lives unfold, step by step:  Maiden, Mother, Queen, Crone.

I now embrace them all in me.