Full Circle

I became a grandmother last year.  I wasn't ready for it; I worried that somehow overnight I'd be categorized by all my friends and acquaintances in that questionable realm of gray-haired grannies who wear polyester and carry their short-strapped purses on their forearms.  How silly of me to think that such a milestone in life would change me into someone I am not.

The lesson I learned was that becoming a grandparent, if anything, made me more of who I'm supposed to be.


A few weeks ago I learned I am going to be a grandmother again.  It was exciting news that I didn't, even for a second, feel frightened about.  I did feel worried for my daughter. I felt bad for her as she started to feel the pangs of morning sickness and early pregnancy fatigue.  My heart went out to her over her own worries about miscarriage, financial security and the whole other trove of anxieties that come with growing another human being inside your body.  Those were all things I understood because I've experienced them.  I realized I could offer powerful support to my child as she traverses this journey to motherhood because I not only have empathy for her, I truly understand on a basic level, what she is going through.

Last week I sat in a little exam room with Hannah.  It was the same exam room I sat in myself a little over ten years ago, to have my belly measured and to hear the heartbeat of my son for the very first time.  The nurse came in an asked Hannah if she wanted to hear the baby's heartbeat.  "Of course!" we both chimed in.

"Now it's early, so we might not be able to find it today, but don't worry." The nurse told us.
"Even if we don't hear it today, that doesn't mean anything is wrong."

We both listened closely (I think I was holding my breath) as the nurse moved that wand around on my daughter's belly. At first we heard swishes and swashes but no rhythmic drumming of a tiny heart.  Then finally, the nurse found it.  That tiny thumping, fast and steady, the beat of a battle drum. That tiny yet powerful pulse of life was enough to pull tears from my eyes and from the eyes of its mother.  It was in that moment that I, at my ripe old age, received an amazing epiphany.

It is said that life always comes full circle.  That as parents we bathe and change our kids, care for them and watch over them and then in our old age we trade places; our children become our caretakers, making sure we are fed and clothed and well cared-for.  But as I listened to the heartbeat of my grandchild I realized in subtle ways, that changing of roles begins long before old age sets in.

 For me it began when Sylia gave birth to my first grand baby.  It began the moment that I helped her put that baby to her breast.  That amazing transformation of of reciprocal understanding and empathy began to happen the moment my own child felt the first flutter of new life in her womb.

It grows with every milestone my grandchildren reach, with every night my daughters lie awake listening to the breathing of their own children as they sleep.  With every elevated temperature, every bad day at school, every new thing learned and in every face-off of a power struggle between mother and child, my daughters will understand me more.

As I watched the broad, hopeful smile of my firstborn at the sound of her child's heartbeat, I suddenly felt a kinship with her I've never felt before.  There is a joy unspeakable in seeing life come 'round to them as it came to me.  There is such satisfaction and unbridled hope in each new life.  The bonds of motherhood grow ever-stronger as I watch my daughters take on the enormous task of creating, sustaining, and nurturing another life.  All their lives I tried so hard to understand them, to show them empathy and unconditional love.  I find myself, so much sooner than I ever imagined, at this amazing transformation; watching my children embrace experiences that used to belong only to me.

There is kinship in understanding that energizes the power of empathy far beyond merely imagining ourselves in someone else's shoes.  I now share a new intimacy with my daughters, who for years just couldn't understand my reasoning, my worry or the boundaries I set for them.  I know that as their children mature and challenge them more and more, this gift we share will continue to flourish.  They will know me as I've never been known by them before, and I will treasure every second of this new journey.

I may never live to a ripe old age.  My daughters and son will likely never have to shower me or change my adult diapers.  My body started failing me before they were ever born, and it may abandon me altogether before we all come full-circle.  But I am ever-grateful that for our todays and brief tomorrows, the newness of big round bellies and sweet smelling babies will help them see and understand the deepest parts of who I am and have always been since the moment that first warm bundle of life was placed in my own arms 25 years ago.

Nothing is stronger than the bond of motherhood,  nothing more sacred than the joy every new life brings into a family.  That joy will far outlive this mother's heart.  It will carry parts of my soul though, to generations so far away I can't even imagine them.  But for today, I am so blessed to see just an arc of the circle as it comes around.  I may never live to see it meet at the ends, but I can honor the process.  I stand in awe as the delicate curve comes back to me and breathes new hope into my soul with every tiny, thumping little heartbeat.