What it Means to be a Grandmother

Before becoming a grandmother, people said, “Wait until you become a grandmother! There are no words to describe it.” Well now that I can speak from the other side, I am going to try and find some words.

I remember as a kid running relay races. I never quite got their purpose because it seemed like I was trying to pass a baton to someone while running away from them. For me, parenting has been a bit like that–trying to pass on the wisdom for fulfillment with the persistent sense that I wasn’t quite reaching my goals. I parented with a sense of urgency because there was so much to do.

When I left my son for the first time at preschool, I remember feeling that I had relinquished some invisible hold. I pushed him gently with the baton held firmly in my hand. We had left a place to which there was no return. When he turned sixteen, he refused to give his high school permission to call home if he skipped a class. This time it was his hand that reached back for the baton. When he left for university and then got married, I felt like I had finally let go but it wasn’t until my grandson was born that the baton was in my son’s hand facing forward toward his own child.

The love I feel for my grandchild is light and joyful, unweighted by the parental burden of responsibility and unhampered by the kind of worry and anxiety that I feel with my own children. When I was with my new grandson, I thought less about his future and more about his present. I could stare at his face, and watch his expressions change for a ridiculous amount of time. I kissed his head constantly because it was kissable. I loved him as much whether he was crying, smiling, or sleeping.

Today he is thirteen and we have six more grandchildren. There are times that I worry about them, but not as much as their parents do. I am calm and grandmotherly, not through trying, but because that’s the way I feel.

I have planted and sowed. It’s my time to reap. The baton has been passed.