When Your Child Has A Child
“Oh, that is unbelievable!” we said when we saw that astonishing photo of her when she was still in the womb. It was not one of those odd renditions of a cone-shaped window, an indistinct sonogram that requires a certain faith to accept the doctor’s interpretation that “Yes, the baby is a girl.” It was a three dimensional rendering that showed her tiny serene face looking as if she were just biding her time until she could enter our world.
We were notified by a triumphant phone call from our son that “Josie is here!” The call was followed shortly by the first photos captured by his iPhone and transmitted to us through the miracle of instant internet communication. “How adorable, how cute, how beautiful! The most awesome granddaughter there ever was!” A classic reaction of a proud grandmother. But my attention was drawn to the face of her father, our son, as he carefully cradled her.
I remember the day he was born. In the first moments when I held him, I studied his face, looking for clues in his countenance to remind me that he was a child with my family’s heritage, and that of his father’s. I could detect a shadow of both families’ inheritance in the shape of his mouth and face, in the color of his downy hair and in his eyes that struggled to open and focus on my face.
In the passing months we looked for signs as to what contours his personality would take. We encouraged his playful pursuits and his academic interests as they developed. We tried to imagine where his life would take him knowing that we had to accept the fact that it would remain a mystery to us that would unfold, ever so slowly, over the years. And then, one day he was no longer a child; he was an adult; he was a man with a partner and he was ready to establish his family. And, six months ago, he made that remarkable phone call to tell us that for the second time he had become a father.
A father! I remember how young I was when he was born and how linked I still was to my family. I didn’t think of my first child as the beginning of a new generation. Slowly I, and his father, became the anchors of our own growing family. And then our parents died. As they left us, one at a time, we became the older generation in a timeless cycle that held us in its grasp whether we were ready or not.
“Mom,” he called when he wanted something. My new role was easy to accept — I was a young mother performing many maternal duties. Then I heard, “Grandma,” as Ray, our first grandchild called my attention. It is a spectacular title, yet it was hard to adjust to that role that had no proscribed duties ..... and made me feel so old. Then Josie was born and now there are two grandchildren following me in my life’s journey.
Before the birth of our son’s children, my life was entwined with his. Now he is the focal point of his family and is engaged in teaching them the lessons we taught him. Our child has a child, and now a second child. I muse at this sublime event that makes me a grandmother once again. Yes, I am a grandmother, to be sure, and my imagination is gripped by the thought of my life reaching far into the future alongside that of the child of my child.
©2010 Adrienne Cannon for SeniorWomen.com
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