she rustled under my polyester top as I walked in the sunshine to the blue Nova.
The doctor declared today would be her birthday; she was already three weeks late, no signs of starting labor.
I held her tightly to me.
Since the time of her birth, I have never put her down; not truly.
She left me to go to college and get married and have a career and start a family.
When she comes back,
I am waiting.
Her love for her daughters is strong and challenged by the times in which she lives.
I grow older; more tired, less able. A virus catches me and I am laid up for days and her children rebound in minutes, it seems.
Daughter of mine.
How can I say how I felt then, how I feel now? How fierce is my love? Fighting every day for her survival and the well-being of her young, I am lost, there is not enough of me. My energies are on the wane and I must go on to old age – alone.
She wrenches my heart; it lurches when she says “please.”
Looking at her, I think I could die for loving her and what might be our fate together. Her coming was like a comet, expected, profound and magical. Every day I grow older and I wonder how I can face death and leave her?
Her giggles tickle my brain.
Her dance with bottom wiggling causes me to dance and wiggle.
The deep brownness of her eyes harkens back to other relatives who blew my life apart
and I stand amazed that this can be so in one lifetime. I can never enjoy a day with her “grandpa” and I am glad. Deeper than this gladness, I feel the relief. No longer burdened by him, his evil ways, his crazy family and even though his genetic material lives on; it seems to have been diluted. I pray this girl child will carry very little of it in her ovum to the next generation. I pray for nurture; I pray nurture can curtail nature.
Love like this one feels dangerous. I would compare it to watching a fireworks display with sheer delight and at the same instant knowing the power behind the elegant display of blues, reds and pure white light in the sky. She, a rose bud; me a drying and dying bush with no blossoms remaining.
her breath; her spirit are mine.
yesterday she told me she thinks she and her baby sister were twins and born at different times and I thought it was probably the truth as I feel as connected to her as a hand or a foot and I can see why she would think about these things.
Saturday, after spending forty minutes listening to her howl and sob; I wondered if she is having hormonal fluctuations, if she is being deliberately manipulative or if she was told exactly what she said and I need to go and flog someone for hurting her because she is and will always be my princess; my first.
I tell her every time I see her and she does not know. She loves her sisters and she cannot understand my heart and may never. Claiming she will never have children; I tell her that would be an okay decision in my book and I want to be around when she finishes college and starts to make those kinds of decisions.
Like me, she has allergies and I worry. I do not want to sleep with her again for a while because it bothers me so.
Love hurts and hurts and hurts.
Our love is intense
I knew you were helpless without me
crying crying and crying.
I was the one who fed you, clothed you and held you during those long long nights.
My body began to give out.
This past twenty plus months, you have cried again. All four of you cried. I heard your sobs from the Left Coast and I came running. There was no question. You were in hot water and you were unable to get yourself out. So I came. So I stayed.
I feel the same wear and tear on my body again; this time, quadrupled. The love is so much deeper; I doubt I can describe it. How does anyone describe their need for their own breath, the need for the heart to beat even if it is no mine and the need for succor in this cruel world of war, strife and floods?
Life is so very tumultuous; we people are tossed to and fro like pecans dropping from large canopied trees in autumn. We are pelted and become missiles into our lives and others. You are just beginning to learn your journey of life is already half over. You faltered for love. You thought, like I do, love would carry you through. It did not and you still had me. What will happen next time? Will you be more careful, less willing to give yourself to love with abandonment? The only love where this is possible is ours. In other relationships, if we lose ourselves in love, we will indeed lose. There may not be a mother’s hand to grasp and pull you back from the edge of all you know.
Along with the poet’s words: love is kind, patient, etc. I want to add: love is fleeting like a shadow of an elm tree in fall, love is maddening like a man lost in a crowd with a knife and love is greedy asking for too much like a child whose ice cream cone has melted and she wants her mother to go to the store and get her another one. The store will be there; the mother may not be.
Two of you like peas in a pod. Similar and different and I love you so much.
Faces round and brown, legs stout from mountain climbing, bike riding and throwing footballs up, up in the air.
So late in life you came to me and just at the very right time.
You captured my heart. You love me just because. We play and laugh. You tease me and I tease you. I ask myself: what is it like to be three and nine years of age and male and growing so very fast in this fast changing world? As their adopted grandmother, I know they will be famous some day as they are already so smart, funny and playful with me. One may be an architect and the other might stand with a fist and lead his people, our people into another world of peace and prosperity for all.
I ask myself how can this be? I want my own flesh and blood; they reject me because I will not fit their mold and here are these two and their mother and I am so crazy in love. What good fortune.
The force be with you and also with you.
I am not sure what the writer
of the Wizard of Oz meant when he used this phrase: horse of a different color.
What I mean: in-laws remain strange and different to me even after decades of interaction and good will.
Becoming family, we push and pull each other.
I want my traditions. You want your holidays celebrated with a pudding your mother made. I want a vacation at the beach. You want to go to the mountains.
Two families have united.
Now, there are children.
We are called upon to be civilized. To try our best to understand each other. We may spend half of our holidays with these people. We may sleep in their houses, share their toothpaste and eat many dinners together. We may sit through long, tiring graduations, attend wedding parties and eat lots of cubed cheese and we may share the death and dying of beloved members and sob on each others’ shoulders.
Still, this people are strange. They have hobbies I do not understand. They like Nascar and golf and spend every fall watching days and days of tennis as a holiday activity. The men watch lots of television and the women do not shop where I shop, she is vegetarian and I love pork chops and he likes blueberries on his ice cream. I usually focus on the differences, the odd behaviors and the things that do not mesh. I feel irked. I am anxious. I am confused.
And then, a disaster strikes. A baby I love is sick. My van needs to be serviced and I need a ride to the dealership. Who do I call? I call one of the horses in the “polka-dot stables” and ask please will you help me? If they are able, they always say yes. Some times, I do not even have to ask. A warm cup of coffee with lots of milk and cinnamon awaits me. I step outdoors at the airport and I have a car and driver waiting. I look around at the hospital and there is a face I know and he asks if I want a mint and I feel like I can make it for ten more minutes.
I am glad I can love different and strange to me horses.
The unexpected surprise
almost the end
of my daughter’s life
and I was so scared.
and I came to visit
and I stayed.
I am grateful money, time and resources were on our side.
I guss we made it happen; but, one never knows if just one twist of fate would have produced a different outcome? To date, you have not been seriously ill, no returns to the hospital and only momentary lapses with your mother’s health issues and her surgery.
Did I mention how grateful I am?
How can I ever say how much I love you?
You and your Mom are wounds so tightly around my heart
it feels like the best of roses with the most thorns
so scary, I dare not say.
I cannot imagine life without you.
Having you has made me a believer again, given me reason to live and made laughter bubble inside a dark place where I thought the dead dwelled forever.
How to describe you? At less than two years old, you are so much your own person. You know what you want and you will get it with a please, a frown or a screaming cry. You love to dance, you like to inspect my house to see what is new and you are never very happy in the car. You love ducks and dogs. Your words are getting clearer and better and you will not eat something you do not want; will not try it; no way.
To my way of thinking, you are much like your mother; but, different. I think she wanted or needed to please. You really could care less. Your main goal is getting outside and you will do it by hook or by crook. Your chuckles fill your belly and your eyes light up when you see someone you love and you love back. I know babes are supposed to be given safety and security and then they derive pleasure from having their drives satisfied. That explanation just does not wash for you and me. In your wonderful hand, I have known joy. In naps with you, I have felt peace. With you, I am the closest I will ever be to heaven and I am not afraid of dying because now I have truly lived.