I should be part of that lovely group of people called “Grandparents” and more specifically “Grandma”. The majority of people my age, and even younger now, have numerous pictures of their grandkids on their phones, walls, and social media and are quite eager to talk about their antics and show off their pictures. When I’m asked if I have any grandchildren, the answer varies depending on the situation. Sometimes, a quick yes will suffice as long as the conversation moves on. Yes, but it’s complicated is a common answer, one which I sometimes elaborate on depending more so on my mood than the situation. But often, it’s just easier to say no.
I do have 3 grandchildren that I know about (there may be more--haven’t had any updates through the grapevine, which is how I found out about the last two), but I do not consider myself to be a grandma. Our oldest granddaughter is 8 years old and I’ve never seen her, never held her, have not watched her (or her siblings) grow up. I never got the chance to see our son become a father, growing in his abilities as his children grow and change. Our son has willingly stolen this part of my life that I had so looked forward to and there is no way that any of this can be restored.
Overall, my life is good. But I feel like I’m living in a sunny day with a dark cloud constantly hovering nearby. Some days, the I am able to stay in the sunshine regardless of what is going on around me. But there are days that the dark cloud consumes me and fills me with guilt and regret. I have gone over our family time with a fine-toothed comb and believe me, I can find all sorts of things to feel guilty over. I can remember little events that most wouldn’t even think of that burden me with guilt and regret. I am the one that our three kids spent the most time with. If there is an issue, of course it would be my fault. The blame and guilt are easy for me to accept.
But when I’m able to push that cloud back, which happens most days, I realize that we were a good family. We weren’t perfect and I would definitely do things differently with what I now know. But we did the best we could with the knowledge that we had, and our kids were happy. We lived life together. I don’t remember a time that any of our kids didn’t want us to do things together. They did have friends and went off with them for various events but their friends liked to come spend time with us as well. I felt that we were a normal family, one where we all really liked each other. I don’t recall a time when one of our kids decided they weren’t going to speak to us for an extended length of time. We didn’t shut each other out like that. When they got older, they earned more freedoms, therefore spending more time away from us. But they came back, enjoying family gatherings or simple evenings watching a movie together.
My life revolved around our kids. When they were little, I was in charge of nursery and children’s church. Then I helped run a once-a-week preschool program. Moving upward, besides teaching them at home, we were 4-H leaders and part of the leadership team for our home school group. We worked along side them as youth leaders and were on worship teams together. We went on mission trips together. Never once did I feel any resentment or that we were encroaching on their territory. We have great memories of those times together.
I can realize that we had a great relationship with our son well into his adulthood where all of the decisions of how he spent his time were his own. Up until he was in a relationship at age 26, I considered us to not just be mother and son, we were friends. He confided in me, using me as a sounding board for decisions he was making. It was all so normal, so expected. I do know the catalyst that somehow convinced him that we were bad people and that he grew up in an unsafe and unhealthy household. Even with that knowledge, the blame and the guilt is always hovering to bury me once more.
I have never been much of a group person. I much prefer one-on-one gatherings or small gatherings. But now it’s much easier to simply to simply stay by myself. Most women, as I said earlier, want to talk about their grandchildren. Although I’m happy for them, especially when I watched their kids grow up, that is the sort of thing that draws the cloud closer to me. But then there are those who, out of respect knowing our situation, try not to talk about grandkids. That’s another level of emotion--I want to be part of their lives but the pain is so real when I imagine what I’m missing out on.
I have met a lot of people in the last fifteen or so years who didn’t know us when we were raising our kids. They may have known us when our son was still part of our family but many don’t know any of our kids. I feel like I need to defend myself when they hear my story. I wasn’t a bad mom, we weren’t a broken family (until our son broke it himself), we didn’t abuse our kids physically or emotionally--we really were a happy family. I feel that I’m in a segment of society that is not understood by people around me. How could anyone understand what we’ve been through, and still are going through, when we struggle to understand it ourselves?
I try not to be judgmental, but I do analyze situations. I’m a thinker; it’s just what I do. In looking around me, I notice families who get together on a regular basis or at least for major holidays. I know that one family had an abusive parent. The other had divorced parents, another had substance abuse problems. One where the parents couldn’t communicate without yelling at each other, ones where parents often swore at their kids. Sexual abuse within the family. I’m not saying that any of these situations mean that these people are undeserving of happy families. But if they all love, forgive, and move on, what is so bad with our family that there is no love and forgiveness given or offered?
Yes, we have 2 other children. They’ve been hurt, too, and have been very supportive of us as we’ve been on this journey. I am thankful for them and we enjoy their company. I got much closer to my parents and other family members as we banded together in support of each other. He abandoned all of us. But the pain is still there. Always. And no one else understands it from a mother's point of view. He didn’t acknowledge or attend his sister’s wedding. He didn’t visit his grandfather when he was told that he was quickly being swallowed by Alzheimer’s Disease. He didn’t visit his grandmother when he was told that she was no longer receiving treatment for her cancer and didn’t have long to live. He didn’t come to his grandma’s funeral. His general disregard for his grandparents, who were always there for him, is almost harder for me to accept than his abandonment of us.
Yes, I hope to have other grandchildren someday. I look forward to that and I know that I will be one of those excited grandmas with pictures and stories to tell her friends. But that black cloud will still be there, always hovering, always ready to take me down again. I will know that I have 3 grandchildren who don't know me and a son who chooses daily to disregard his family. I have read many books to try to help me work through my grief and regret. In “It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way”, by Lysa TerKeurst, she states:
"Sometimes all the homes around me seem to be bursting with laughter and love and a normalcy currently out of reach for me. I’m happy for them. I used to be one of them. But it’s so hard to see the stark contrast of their lives and mine. We all have areas of life that seem to fall impossibly short. We thought this aspect of life would bring us great joy. After all, it does for others. But not for us. The very thing we thought would burn so brightly with joy has turned out to burn us.
And what makes it so maddening is that it didn’t have to be this way! Usually, the most disappointing realities come from the most realistic expectations. An unmet longing from a realistic expectation is such a searing pain within a human heart. You know this whole deal should have and could have been different. But their choices were their own. Their desires, their brokenness, their selfishness, or their lack of awareness left your needs unattended. What seemed so realistic to you was met with a resistance and ultimately a rejection by someone you didn’t think would ever hurt you." (italics mine)
I am a broken person from a broken family. My healing has been sporadic, but I feel that overall I have been moving forward. I sometimes feel forgotten, yet I don’t want pity. I think that I want some level of understanding, but most of what I need is inner healing and the ability to talk about our situation without feeling guilty. “Never in a million years” is a statement that we’ve used frequently. Yes, it feels like God does sometimes allow more than we can handle on any given day. But I choose to see the simple joys and beauty around me that the dark cloud is unable to fully extinguish. My life is not what I had planned. My new normal is not what I want. Yet I will continue, most days, to press forward. I will strive to learn and grow and flourish in the midst of the pain that never fully goes away. I will strive to live the truth of who I am, who I’ve always been--a good person who loves my family. I won’t let anyone take that from me.
