Love, Loss, and Learning to Let Go
Both of my grandsons play soccer, so my daughter is pretty much a full-time soccer mom these days.
In between games, we went to Spirit Halloween together.
I go where I'm invited, especially when it means spending time with my grandchildren. These days, I take every opportunity I can get.
Something I've come to realize about having adult children is that you can no longer see them whenever you want. They have their own families, schedules, responsibilities, and lives to live.
And sometimes, that's a difficult adjustment.
You spend years raising your children, being involved in almost every part of their lives. You're the one making plans, taking them places, organizing their schedules, and making sure everyone has what they need.
Then they grow up, become parents themselves, and suddenly you're learning how to fit into their world instead.
I think many parents and grandparents struggle with this. Sometimes we feel left out or wish we could be more involved. We miss the closeness and the everyday interactions we once had.
But part of loving our adult children is respecting their independence and learning not to take everything personally.
I'm still learning that myself.
Learning When to Step Back
Even with the recent birth of my granddaughter, Isla Florence, I found myself navigating this changing role.
I was so excited about her arrival. I wanted to make a big announcement and share my happiness with everyone.
But my daughter values her privacy, and I wanted to respect her wishes.
She allowed me to share a small announcement, so that's what I did.
As excited as I was, I understood that this was her baby, her experience, and her decision about what she wanted to share.
It's another part of being a mother to adult children. We can be excited, proud, and eager to participate in their lives, but we also have to respect their boundaries.
That doesn't mean we love them any less. It means we're learning how to love them differently.
And I think that's one of the more challenging parts of motherhood that we don't talk about enough.
Welcoming Our Little October Marigold
Isla Florence.
I look at her little face, her soft cheeks, her eyes closed beneath her white hat, and I am so happy she is here. After everything our family has been carrying, there is this new little person to love.
She was born in October, a month whose birth flowers include the marigold.
When I learned that, I thought about my mother, about Eternal Marigold, and about the love and remembrance I have poured into this space.
Now that same flower belongs to my granddaughter's beginning.
Before my daughter knew she was having a girl, she dreamt of my mother sitting on the couch at my sister's house, smiling.
In the dream, my daughter went to the refrigerator. After closing it, she looked and saw a closet full of pink.
My mother's smile. The familiar house. All that pink.
In our Buddhist family, we believe in rebirth, and we hold the deeply personal belief that my mother has returned to us through Isla.
I still miss her. I still wish I could tell her the baby has arrived.
That dream and our faith bring tenderness to that longing.
There is something comforting about welcoming a new life while still carrying so much love for someone who has passed.
But Isla's arrival also reminded us of another loss our family had experienced only weeks earlier.
The Grandfather Who Wasn't There
When we were at the hospital welcoming Isla, I couldn't help thinking about her grandfather, my children's father.
He had passed away just weeks before she was born.
We would have been FaceTiming him, showing him her little face and celebrating together with the boys, my daughter, and the father of her children.
There was so much happiness to share, and someone we could no longer call.
Kyrie noticed his grandfather's absence, too.
While we were looking at the boys' baby pictures at the hospital, he asked to see pictures of his grandfather.
In the middle of welcoming someone new, we spent a little time remembering someone we missed.
I see so much of his grandfather in Kyrie, especially that mischievous little look.
His grandfather saw it, too. He used to say Kyrie was his spitting image and affectionately called our grandsons his "two lil footprints."
Those familiar expressions make me smile.
And I wonder what pieces of him we will recognize in Isla as she grows.
When Kyrie Told Me He Was Sad
Yesterday, during the soccer tournament, we had some time between games.
We were sitting in my car having lunch and spending time together when Kyrie suddenly mentioned that he missed his grandfather.
There was no particular conversation leading up to it. He just said it.
I told him, "Aww, we all miss him too."
Then I asked him, "How do you feel when you miss Grandpa?"
He said, "Sad."
I was glad he was able to tell me that.
Children notice when someone they love is missing. They remember them, think about them, and feel their absence, even when they're busy playing soccer or enjoying an otherwise happy day.
And sometimes those feelings come out when we least expect them.
What mattered to me was that Kyrie felt comfortable enough to bring up his grandfather and tell me how he felt.
I didn't need to change the subject or make his sadness go away. I wanted him to know that missing Grandpa was something we could talk about.
That's the kind of relationship I want with my grandchildren.
I want them to feel comfortable talking to me about anything, whether they're excited, happy, disappointed, or sad.
Especially as they grow older.
Why I Make the Most of Our Time Together
One thing I love about being a grandmother is that when I'm with my grandchildren, I'm fully present.
I'm not sitting on my phone scrolling through social media or worrying about everything else I need to do.
We play cards. We draw and paint. We play tag and hide-and-seek.
Yes, Grandma still plays hide-and-seek.
I think that's one reason children enjoy spending time with their grandparents. We have the opportunity to give them our attention without so many of the daily responsibilities their parents are managing.
And I genuinely enjoy doing those things with them.
My grandsons still consider me one of their favorite people in the world.
I love that, and I want to keep it that way.
Not because I need to be their favorite, but because I want them to continue feeling that close to me.
I want them to remember a grandmother who listened to them, played with them, laughed with them, and made time for them.
And when they're older, I hope they'll still want to spend time with me, even when they have busy lives of their own.
I know from experience how quickly those years pass.
Finding My Place in Their Changing Lives
After experiencing so much loss, I've spent a great deal of time reflecting on relationships.
I've learned that sometimes we need to step away from relationships that are no longer healthy for us.
But I've also learned that maintaining the relationships we value requires effort, patience, and understanding.
That includes our relationships with our adult children.
I think one of my biggest challenges at this stage of life is accepting that I am no longer at the center of my children's everyday lives.
And I shouldn't expect to be.
They're building their own families, raising their children, and making decisions about their lives.
That's what we raised them to do.
But understanding something doesn't necessarily make the emotional adjustment any easier.
Sometimes I wish I could see my grandchildren more often. Sometimes I wish making plans with my children were as simple as it used to be.
And sometimes I have to remind myself that their busy schedules aren't a reflection of how much they love me.
I'm learning to respect their lives while continuing to build my own.
Because that's important, too.
For so many years, much of my identity revolved around being a mother. Now I'm also a grandmother, a writer, and a woman learning more about herself.
My children are growing into their own lives, and I have to allow myself to do the same.
That doesn't mean becoming less involved or loving them from a distance.
It means finding a healthier balance between being there for them and allowing everyone, including myself, room to grow.
Making Room for Love and Loss
The past few weeks have reminded me how closely happiness and sadness can exist together.
We welcomed Isla while still grieving her grandfather.
I held my new granddaughter while missing my mother.
And I listened to Kyrie talk about missing Grandpa while we were spending an otherwise happy afternoon together.
These moments remind me that grief doesn't disappear simply because life continues.
The people we miss are still woven into our everyday lives.
We see them in our children and grandchildren, hear ourselves repeating their words, and tell their stories to the little ones who are just beginning.
This is how we carry their love forward while continuing to live and love.
And perhaps that's another part of growing older.
We learn that our relationships will change. The people we love will grow, move forward, and build lives that don't always include us in the ways they once did.
We also learn that our time together is never something we should take for granted.
I can't control how often I get to see my grandchildren, and I don't want to interfere with the lives my children are building.
But I can make the most of the time we do share.
I can show up for another soccer game.
I can sit in the car with my grandsons and listen when they want to talk.
I can play another game of hide-and-seek.
And I can welcome a new granddaughter while remembering the people who would have loved her so much.
There is room in this flower for my tears for my mother and my happiness for this baby.
There is room in me for both.
And there is room in my life to continue loving my family while learning how to live my own.
Welcome, Isla Florence. Our little October marigold.
With all my love,
GiGi
Eternal Marigold
Where memory blooms forever.
