Jottings From Fifth & G: Reflecting on a life full of transitions

Changes and transitions are a normal part of life: We start as small, innocent children, then with schooling and education we slowly but surely develop into adulthood, parenthood maybe, and later become mentors to a new generation, our grandchildren, if we are blessed to have them.

Just returning from a wonderful trip to the East Coast, and anticipating re-connecting with my two daughters and grandchildren, I realized that I had made a transition. It turns out the “kids” were all occupied and we wouldn’t see each other soon due to their busy work and activity schedules. I sighed and said to myself, “OK, I’ve transitioned.”

Let me explain what I mean. When I was a young mother, I poured myself into my new role: caregiving, protecting, teaching our young daughters. They were the center of my world for a while. Some of us become overly and joyfully consumed with this role, pampering maybe too much; others of us take our role seriously, but with less overseeing of every action and facial expression of our children. In my young mothering days, back in the 1960s, I loved being a mother — “feathering the nest,” meaning making sure everything was centered on the children; my husband, the father of our two girls, enjoyed his role as “daddy” equally as much. “The girls” were not quite, but almost the complete center of our lives — but we also believed in allowing them the freedom to spread their own wings, when they were ready to fly from our nest, somewhere around the late teens. Another transition. Some say they cried when their kids went away to college. To be frank I rejoiced. It meant more time to do the things I had postponed for all those child-rearing days. I made the transition and as my husband and I said “good-bye” after unloading our daughters’ stuff at their college dorm, we both were thinking: Will we miss them? Will it be hard to not chat with them over breakfast each morning or hear about all their school activities of the day, watch them in school plays or at volleyball games? Driving home, we began to make the transition by slipping into talk about our new-found “freedom” and what it would mean: candlelight dinners with each other, lazy unencumbered weekends without worries if they’d get home from the date at the right time, more time to travel. The latter was high on our list, though admittedly we had not let the children stop us from traveling in a van around Europe with them when one was 3 1/2 and the other 5.

A few years later after both girls were out of college and working, we had to make another transition and accept the fact that we were no longer the central figures in their lives: Now they had their co-workers and friends who they saw the most. Of course, they were always good about stopping by and sharing stories with us of their adventures and even, sometimes in tears, their misadventures. We liked that and still felt strongly attached to the parenting role. Then, before we knew it, they were married and we once again had to accept the secondary seat at the table. We began traveling more and enjoyed our new roles as “in-laws” to our sons-in-laws. Grandchildren came along and once again we were drawn into helping with the kids, making sure to pick them up at school when our daughters and their spouses couldn’t. This was a fun transition for the most part: We loved our grandparenting roles. We saw the kids, senior and junior, a lot. Holidays were especially fun: annual pumpkin carving at Halloween, Easter egg hunts in the spring, bike rides and camping.

Let me interject some lines from a poem I like here. I feel it is apropos. It’s by British poet, Jeff Foster:

“You will lose everything.

Your money, your power, your fame, your success,

Perhaps even your memories.

Your looks will go.

Loved ones will die.

Your body will fall apart.

Everything that seems permanent is impermanent and will be smashed.

Experience will gradually,

or not so gradually,

strip away everything that it can strip away.

Waking up means facing this reality

with open eyes and no longer turning away.”

It is not my intention to be maudlin about our transitioning, just realistic. Now, in our 80s and with grown grandchildren, themselves married and/or just busy with work and social lives, we realize we see our daughters and grandchildren less frequently. We go away and come back and sometimes it may be days or even weeks before they and we are free to get together. They are where we were once — busy with work, being grandparents and in-laws to their children’s marriage partners, remembering birthdays and anniversaries we cannot always attend due to our travels. We have “transitioned.”

It is OK not to see our kids (as we still often refer to them) immediately. My calendar spells out several activities coming up with friends — I wouldn’t have the time to see them anyway. I know we will get together when it “works” for everyone. I am proud I raised two beautiful independent hardworking women and helped raise four mature and generally thriving grandchildren. Life is good and accepting these “transitions” is a big part of a life well-lived. As the poet ends:

“But right now, we stand on sacred and holy ground,

for that which will be lost has not yet been lost,

and realizing this is the key

to unspeakable joy.

Whoever or whatever is in your life right now

has not yet been taken away from you.

This may sound trivial,

obvious,

like nothing,

but really it is the key to everything,

the why and how and wherefore of existence.

Impermanence has already rendered everything

and everyone around you

so deeply holy and significant

and worthy of your heartbreaking gratitude.

Loss has already transfigured your life into an altar.”