History Repeats and I Understand

My daughter's twins, Andrew and Dawn, turned 14 on Thursday. That proverbial "blink of an eye"

happened and they are now well into those teen years. Her youngest, Natalie, turns 13 in October so the triple threat then will be complete. We are anxious for the girls to return from their time with their father in New Jersey this week so their summer here and family celebration can happen.

I am blessed to be able to spend time with them. I wish it were the same with all my grandchildren but alas, Michael and Matthew and families are planted in other places. Their roots are deep in northern lower Michigan and Colorado so I love them and their families from afar. The pictures and postings help, but will never be the same as truly being part of their daily life.

I understand the importance of family proximity now, but didn't give it much thought in my youth, those early years when my own babies were young and we lived more than a 1000 miles from maternal and paternal grandparents. Somehow it was our right to choose where to live and whether any money or time was available for travel. After all, our parents had their own lives to live too and I rationalized that they wouldn't be sitting at home waiting for me to drop in if I did live closer.

Summer 1981, Traverse City, MI

When we did visit Pennsylvania and the time to leave for Michigan arrived, I watched the parents staunch their tears and wave and throw kisses until we rounded the turn in the road. I would be crying too but once again, felt justified knowing our little family was going home. Did I ever wonder what happened after we parted? Probably not, selfishly caught up in my life as I was. But I know only too well today as my own children and grandchildren drive out of sight that the tears fall more furiously and the sadness sets in. I know I did the best I could and their leaving and living on their own is a plus, but even that knowledge doesn't soften the ache inside as I realize it will be a long time before I see them - hug them - again.

My pride in my family is profound, and I accept that it is wrapped in a messy package of feelings, sadness, joy, loss, aging and growth. I just wish I could see my mother one more time, tell her I finally understand. I do, Mom, and I'm sorry I didn't know back then. I would have made sure you knew just how much I am like you and craved your approval, even from afar. I would have said I love you more often and meant it.

The Best Laid Plans and All That

I think I know what each day, each minute, will bring but I really don't. I drift off to sleep with an outline of my morning "to do" list and three blinks after I am awake, the contents are shifted, shuffled, or dropped. Certain days I am excited by the prospect of not knowing as I embrace what comes, but many days - oh, really, most days - I want to know what is ahead so I am prepared. Honestly, I don't "do" surprise very well.

Does this make me inflexible? Perhaps. I'd like to think it means instead that I face life with a higher degree of preparedness and am able to offer that organizational plan to others. I don't know. Maybe I am just kidding myself and the world and I would benefit from more spontaneity. In defense of my approach, I do come from a long line of people whose houses were messy but whose lists were always organized with neatly placed check marks next to completed activities. What could be wrong with that?

I believe as long as I can at least marginally accept that changes will occur and not become impatient or frustrated, I still allow for impulsiveness and abandon. Of course, when tied to a preordained plan, opportunities might be missed and go unexplored.

My reflection comes from the knowledge that, once again, I face the uncertainty of job and overall security. I am okay for the moment, but things could change and that doesn't feel comfortable at all. It is hard to listen to people who talk about their multi-million dollar homes or retirement accounts or extraordinary vacations when several totally unplanned life events have stripped me of bragging rights concerning my present and future. I never came from much and truly, I don't need much at all. But knowing the simplest of pleasures could be out of my reach is unsettling--like choosing asparagus instead of  peas for dinner or coveting the ownership of a special book but returning it to the shelf unpurchased.

"Just be," I am told. "None of us really own anything no matter what our income or standing," the same wise person reminds me. And I want to believe it, relax in its simplicity, but the worry creeps in and I wonder what tomorrow will bring, what disruption will happen to those best laid plans. And, ultimately, how I will cope.