Grandma

448 words

Reflections of A “Great” Grandma
by Dianne Roth

Noah, my first grandchild, has arrived, healthy and robust. While daddy and mama struggle with lack of sleep, recovery from delivery, and learning to decipher the language of crying, all I have to do is love. This is my job as gramma. I sleep through the night and change a diaper. All the rest of my time I cuddle and love.

In the long moments that I gaze at this new little boy, I am filled with the possibilities for him. Who will he be? How will he use his hands? What problems will he face? ...and solve? How will he use his mind? Will he be kind? ...generous? ...loving? ...tender? Will he be exuberant? ...responsive?

As I contemplate my role of gramma, I find myself thinking of my own grandmothers. One I saw monthly, the other only once a year. I was in awe of them both. I wonder now if they missed me during absences. Was it wrenching when I left? Would they have liked to have me follow them around, asking questions about my place in the world?

When we visited my distant grandma, I would pretend to be asleep in the morning as she stoked the old pot bellied stove. I listened as she chopped kindling and I let the smell of the smoke become my memory of her. My job was to empty the slop bucket and carry in water. Once, she took me out and let me shoot a squirrel for dinner. I was sure I would grow up and be just like her.

My near grandma had a mysterious root cellar that I was told to stay out of. I would hang around the door and imagine hobos living in there. Her house was formal and I was to sit quietly on the couch during our visits. I would braid the long fringe on the table scarf, listening to the sound of adult voices. A little chime hung over her front door. Opening and closing the door played the little bells. I loved it and have chimes attached to doors and lamps throughout my house.

I loved my grandmas, but we were not close.

I am greedy. I want more. I want my grandbaby to know me, to look forward to my visits, come stay at my house, help me harvest blueberries, and read books with me. I want him to call me up, write me letters, tell me what is important to him, and to ask me to come for dinner. I want to bake him cookies, take him to the playground, and help him hunt for bugs under rocks.

I am eager to watch him become himself and be a part of his growing. I look forward to becoming a “great” grandma to this beautiful new child.

Dianne Roth is a teacher, mother, grandmother, and freelance writer. She lives in Oregon.