My daughter Emma sent me this photo last night that she took of my only granddaughter Robin yesterday.
They went to the Botanical Gardens in Brooklyn yesterday. Emma is a wonderful mother, she says she often remembers all the great places I took her when she was young and she wants to do the same for her daughter.
That makes me feel good.
Robin has brought out the creative side of Emma; her beautiful photographs of Robin have given us something important to share and have helped me feel connected to both of them.
Because of the pandemic, I haven’t seen either of them for nearly three years, and looking at this photo helped me see that Robin, who I only knew as a toddler, has become a strong, confident, and beautiful young woman.
We need to meet again as if for the first time.
This was a jolt.
We are meeting Robin and Emma in Hudson, N.Y. in a few weeks, and we will be spending a weekend. Emma has arranged this and pushed hard to make it happen, I see it is important to her.
Me too.
In a sense, I will be meeting Robin for the first time.
I’ve stayed close to Emma – closer, really – we talk all the time. I don’t know this version of Robin, and I’m both nervous and excited about it.
I am not a conventional grandfather.
Being a grandparent is not the best or most important thing in my life. I am not retired and will not quit working, so I don’t have the time to visit or travel, pandemic aside. And there is no gaping hole in my life to fill.
What I most wanted for Emma was not for her to stay close or care for me; I wanted her to live her full and independent life apart from me, which she has done. I am very proud of her. And she understands I am not expecting her to take care of me. I would not put that on her.
I understood from the first that geography, family history, my own intense life, and Robin’s own complete and prosperous life in Brooklyn would pull us apart.
The pandemic just solidified that. But now, here comes another chance to redefine my idea of grandparenting and see what each of us wants from it. It isn’t just up to me; it’s up to her.
And it’s up to Emma. She wants me to know Robin and be a part of her life.
My therapist, who knows me well, says I can contribute significantly to Robin’s life positively and meaningfully. She says I have a lot to offer her, and she says also that I don’t really believe that.
In a way, we disagree. I’d love to offer something to Robin, but I still don’t know what it would be, other than whatever love and encouragement I can offer. I am sometimes good at that.
Time is a factor, of course. I’m 75 years old this August, and I don’t have decades to figure this out. But nature and life have to take their course. I’m not God.
My own sense is that things will more or less continue the way they are, and I can accept that. I don’t really know how it will feel.
My own life on the farm with Maria is the essential thing in my life, and I’m not looking to replace or alter that. Robin’s life is whole and rich and busy.
New York City can be a wonderful place for someone like Robin to grow up in. Emma has taken advantage of that.
I want to wait and see, but I am excited to be meeting Robin all over again and even more excited to be spending a weekend with Emma and Maria, and Robin altogether. This is my family, and this is all that is left of it.
My own biological family shattered years ago. My parents are long dead, I haven’t spoken to my brother in years, and I only talk to my sister, who has moved up North near the Canadian border to live with friends, via texts and only once in a while.
We love each other but are also not good for one another.
This is life, and I accept it. I doubt I will see either one of them again in this lifetime.
I am nothing but lucky.
So Maria and Emma and Robin are what is left of the family for me; the animals don’t count. I’m looking forward to the visit. Maria and Emma are not close, but get along well. She’s looking forward to the trip.
Emma has found an Airbnb house for us to be in and has made sure I will be comfortable.
Emma and I are in a very good place, and Robin is already impressive, especially for a five-year-old. It feels good.
I’m arranging to take Emma and Robin on a boat ride up the Hudson during the visit. Otherwise, we’ll just hang out and get to know each other again.
Life is what you make it, as Grandma Moses put it so well and I’m open to whatever it is that happens naturally and lovingly.
There have been a lot of changes in my life, and I am no longer surprised by any of them. I trust life and welcome what is has in store for me.
I think you just need to be. You are enough to quote Maria
So in that three years, you found time to drive back and forth to Albany for Bishop Maginn and time to spend whole days driving Moise around, but no time at all to drive two hours to see your daughter and granddaughter? And you had to wait to do it until Emma set the whole thing up herself? I’m sure that makes her feel just great, however you try to rationalize to yourself that it’s perfectly ok to put Robin and Emma far, far down in your list of priorities (well below eating lobseter, for instance).
Julie, your letter is both rude and insensitive, a Daily Double in horse racing. It’s hard to get so much bile and self-righteousness in one paragraph.
Emma declined my offer of visits for several years (as I wrote) because the pandemic was raging all around her in Brooklyn and because I have both heart disease and diabetes and could have died if I’d contracted the virus, according to my doctors.
She felt strongly that she did not wish to be the cause of my illness or death, and although I argued about it, she was quite adamant and I did appreciate that since people all around her had Covid 19 and two of her friends died from the disease. Sometimes love is about saying no, not yes. Maria was on her side.
As soon as I got my booster shots, I asked her and the doctor if a visit would be okay. The doctor said no, not yet, Emma said we could work it out if I wore masks and was careful. I said yes.
I am excited to be going and seeing them both. I am grateful to have a daughter who cared so much about me.
I have no idea how Robin felt about it, and don’t really care. She’s five and can’t be asked to make decisions like that. Your rather pompous lecture about family is offensive, period. I can’t imagine writing a message like that to anyone, especially someone I didn’t know.
As to Bishop Maginn and the Mansion, (which I had to stay away from also at times), there is no competition between them and my daughter and granddaughter. I would never give up one for the other, which is a foolish comparison.
Shame on your mother for failing to teach you basic manners, courtesy, or civility. I owe you nothing. I have no apologies to make to strangers like you, uninvited cowards who judge people from the safety of their computers without having the slightest idea what your targets are actually like.
Julie, you sure sound like a lost soul– Jon, your reply is right on point! That is THE MOST hateful letter I’ve ever seen–you didn’t mention that she could go somewhere else if she just wants to use your own blog to clobber you over the head. In my mind you have a “living room” full of thoughtful, intelligent friends who enjoy reading about what you share about your life, and we can live vicariously on a farm for a few minutes a day. Julie, go home and soak your head and stay in your room until you have a better attitude.
Smooch…
Molly I love your description of the blog, and that’s precisely how I feel about it..
No doubt you have a wealth to offer. It all depends on their openness to accept it.
I think the best thing you have to offer Robin is to hear her.
I’m sure her parents do that, but they are in the business of giving her a place to grow up. That’s distracting, and the fact that they’ll see her the next hour or day or week makes it easy to put off listening. Just hear her.