Our Parents' Grandchildren

Our parents' grandchildren.  Our children's grandparents.  I had never really thought about that connection until becoming a grandparent myself.  I hadn't realized how different that relationship is from that of a parent and child.  Perhaps older people can empathize with moving slower, needing help with feisty buttons and being afraid of falling.  We're willing to wait even if it takes a long time to put pants on, and willing to help with that button if you get really frustrated, and willing (even delighted) to hold your hand as we walk.  Holding your hand steadies us as much as it steadies you!

Our only child Matthew was the first grandchild on both sides of the family, so of course he was oohed and ahed over, given cookies for breakfast and generally spoiled as much as our folks could get away with.  Funny thing, though--Matthew didn't get spoiled.  He just developed a very close, loving relationship with all four of his grandparents.  My father died when Matt was in high school.  I later found out that Matt carried a picture of my father in his wallet when he graduated, so that my dad could be a part of the celebration.  Tom's father died a few years ago, at Christmas time.  Tom and I were in France at the time, so Matt flew home with us for the funeral, and to comfort his grandma.

Tom's mother died after having heart surgery earlier this summer.  She came out of surgery in a coma and never recovered.  At her bedside we talked about how happy she had been the morning of her surgery; she was so sure the surgery would help her feel better, and best of all, Matt had called her from France the night before.  Matt flew home for her funeral, too, and it was great comfort to aunts and uncles as well as his own father.

While home for the funeral we visited my mom, in a nursing home in Rockford, Illinois.  She also had heart surgery last year, and came out of it sound of body but not of mind.  She doesn't always know for sure who is in the picture or who is in the room.  She's living in the past, but doesn't seem to
have any physical pains or major complaints.  Sometimes she's very anxious about "needing money", or "getting a job", so we just try to reassure her.  But in a way she's no longer there for Matthew or any of us.  So in essence he's lost all of his grandparents.  That connection, that very special connection between two generations, remains only in photographs and memories, and in the gait my lanky son has when he walks down the beach and from a distance I could swear it's my Dad...my Dad who's been gone 21 years, but lives on in my son.