A Tale of Two Grandmothers, a different sort of grief.

A different sort of grieving. At times an overwhelming grief for a little girl as beautiful as a new rose, who came into our life in a dark moment with almost blinding wonderment and then was snatched away just as quickly. I made the error of writing about our first visit with our granddaughter, Clara, we had not seen her in four years. I was hesitant to even mention the visit…because, and not to sound pessimistic, good things, things that quite a few take for granted…don’t seem to materialize over here. Not asking for a pity party, just will know next time to trust my gut instinct and to not hope for quite so much. We made ourselves vulnerable and got burned at a time when we didn’t have a lot of resources to expend. Our hearts already so broken and raw from Justin’s loss, we were ill prepared for more pain.

To all out there who mistakenly think grandparents have legal rights, we don’t. And for all who quickly say but, but…surely your son has rights, yeah…not so much. He has the right to pay child support and child day care, provide health care and whatever other needs come up…but ask for visitation and instead you receive an invitation to dance with the devil.

This experience has proven to be a great insight into my eldest brother’s life, may God grant him peace and mercy in his death.  He was twice divorced, had three beautiful girls. Was denied custody after his first divorce because he didn’t have enough furniture, his apartment was sparse. I remember the only time I ever saw my brother cry was when I was maybe 8 years old, we still lived on the farm and he was in the living room with my mother and he sobbed that he would never see his girls again…and for the most part he was right.  He was working at Westinghouse and going to Johns Hopkins University at the  time. He had previously been injured in a training accident as a cadet in the Maryland State Police academy and was released, that broke his heart also. He was no saint, brilliant, a bit of a free spirit, and as life’s disappointments piled up, an alcoholic. We watched him try to drown his broken heart and pain in drink and drugs. Almost breaking the surface a dozen times, but sinking back into despair. I cannot imagine the depth of his self-loathing, but I think I can empathize with his pain now, and my mother’s great pain.

She grieved the absence of her granddaughters in her life. Holidays and birthdays were the worst…she would buy cards and gifts and then be hesitant to send them, would the girls be allowed to have them?…my mother fretted that our family was spoken ill of and she already had fought a hard battle with self-image all her life. Sometimes she got the cards sent, she kept photos of the girls tucked in her top dresser drawer and in her bible.  Sometimes she didn’t send the cards…and I get that, I have Clara’s Valentine card and Easter card that I did not send. To the credit of those beautiful girls, Vince’s daughters, they found my mother when they came of age and it gave her  much joy. I don’t think she ever got over the feeling  of being “not good enough.”  My parents had been denied custody and the court excoriated the good character of my mother and father. Pain like that does not go away but burrows deep in your heart.  And yet, I never heard my mother speak ill of the other family or the mother, in fact she continued to have a tender heart for them. She always said a child needed to hear the good and see the good of their family, that it was important for how they felt about themselves that they be able to see and hear the fine qualities, for everyone has good.

I have tried to follow my mother’s example, to see the good, regardless of the slander and manipulation, but it is hard, at times almost impossible.  It takes my breath away at how much my life at times mirrors my mother’s for I know the pain she bore and buried, you can see it in her eyes in pictures…so often absent of life and light.

I am thankful that our granddaughter’s mother chose life, for where there is life, there is potential. And we are extraordinarily proud of our son who at such a young age has never missed a child support payment or left his daughter without excellent health care. He bears a sadness that I cannot even begin to imagine and perhaps one day his daughter will search for him and find the father that she has missed all these years.

I keep a box of  memories, maybe one day she will find us and we can share what has been carefully kept in hope. Perhaps she can look upon the picture of her grandpa carrying her in his arms and it will help her remember that she is loved like none other will ever be loved.