Emma and Robin were here for two days; we picked them up at the train Saturday afternoon and dropped them back at the station Monday around noon.

It has taken us several days to recover; I have rarely slept so well.

Before she left Monday morning, Robin and Maria went off to look at snails, and Emma and I finally had a chance to be alone. Emma is not given too much talk about emotions or anything too personal.

But I knew she had something to tell me, and I knew when it was serious.

Not too long ago, she would not have dreamt of talking deeply and honestly with me; she was often angry at me and sometimes afraid of me.

I value it now. And I listen.

“Dad,” she said, “I just wanted to say that from reading your blog, I think you have been overthinking this grandfather thing. Nothing grand is expected of you; you only need to be yourself and let it be what it is.”

When Emma does speak up, I make sure to shut up and listen; she is intelligent and honest. There is no drama.

After the divorce, she was angry at me for years, and we are finally working through that and resuming the close and open relationship we always had before I cracked up and fled suburban life and my family. I thought I had lost her forever; she was so important to me.

My life in New Jersey was never meant for me, and I spent long and hard years figuring out how to leave it. When I left, it was messy and painful for everyone. And it nearly destroyed me.

My relationship with Maria, who saved my life,  was challenging for Emma to adapt to and a puzzle for Robin. We worked much of that out this weekend.

Maria is not looking to be Emma’s mother, and Robin is still working on exactly where she fits into the puzzle of our family. We’re getting there.

I told Emma I appreciated what she said, knew it was true and thanked her for being honest enough to say it. I do overthink everything, as so many people have told me in my life, and I’m still unsure how to “underthink,” my mind has an ego and will all of its own.

My therapy work and meditation have helped me tremendously in learning to control my overthinking and focus on today.

I understand the value of living in the now; I can’t change the past or predict the future, so worrying about each is a waste of time and energy. Today, we are good.

“I think some of the confusion,” I told Emma, “to be honest, in return, was that much of angst about grandfathering had nothing to do with Robin. I was worried about my relationship with you. Robin is a wonderful child, gifted, fun, and full of life, and you’ve done a wonderful job raising her without much involvement from me.  I think I was projecting my fear of losing you on my trouble figuring out how to be a grandfather.”

Emma agrees that she and I have had our troubles communicating in the past. I wasn’t sure how to talk to her.

It’s true, I said, Robin doesn’t need me in the way some children need their grandparents, and I don’t need her in the way many grandparents need their grandchildren. You are the one I was always worried about; ours was the relationship I had to work out and feared I couldn’t.”

I always wanted you to live happily and securely on your own,  and you have.

I have no wish to be in the middle of your life, and you have no desire to have me there. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be close and essential to one another.

She didn’t say much to that, but she did nod, and I felt we had just had a meaningful and important conversation with one another, which was essential and overdue.

We both seemed happy, relieved, and at ease afterward.

This weekend was fine; we all connected and learned from each other. Robin is a great kid and a powerful presence. And I’m very proud to have Emma for a daughter.

As to the future, it is what it is, and I don’t need to keep saying and writing that I’m not going to be part of her life no matter what, and I’m not going to see much of her.

I have no idea what will happen in the future or whether or not Robin and I will be close or distant; we will be whatever we are.

This pose was a defense mechanism, I said, against expecting too much and being disappointed. I do miss you in my life, I said, and I want to be a real father. I’m not always sure what that is.

Robin is doing just fine; I said; she will be successful, accomplished, and confident. She is much loved and greatly supported. I don’t need to worry about her or my relationship with her.

The visit was jarring and remarkable all at the same time.

We should have taken some time to rest, but we were too caught up in it and nearly drove ourselves into the ground. Robin had a blast and wants to come back for a visit in the Spring of next year. We said that would be great.

We also groaned a bit.

Maria and I sometimes feel like monks in a monastery, it is quiet here, and our lives are peaceful and orderly. And very full. We have worked hard to build the lives we want. We cherish that. I’m not always sure that outsiders can understand it.

We wake up at the same time, feed and visit the animals, and go to work in our separate spaces.

Several times a week, we venture out to our various interests – teaching art classes, seeing friends, belly dancing, visiting Bishop Gibbons, doing my meditation work at the Mansion, fund-raising for refugees and older adults in need, eating out, talking, reading,  blogging, taking photos, and videos, etc.

It’s a lot; our lives are full and rich. And we have each other.

We are always busy, sometimes too so. But our lives were rarely disrupted as much as when my granddaughter and daughter visited for the first time in years and landed like a giant bomb.

I couldn’t begin to list everything we planned for, from Apple-Picking to picking crystals out of rocks on a hill. A six-year-old child-like Robin is a rapid-motion machine, a tiny human tornado; she was so busy jumping up and down that the sheep ran for their lives.

Maria learned that her defense mechanism was to insist she was no good around small children. She knows better now. And Robin and Emma have both accepted her into our family.

It was fun, even exhilarating, but exhausting and draining as well.

Robin sucked the energy out of us and never once tired or slowed down.

I loved what Emma said and that she was comfortable enough to say it. And I took it to heart. For years I’ve been working on the idea of living in the now and not the past and the future. That is, in many ways, the key to my spirituality. It is also the key to controlling and understanding my anxiety.

When Robin and Emma left, I stood in the station foyer and said to Maria:

“That was a good weekend, loving and needed and very successful. We did what we set out to do. Emma and I are in a great place, and Robin saw a lot of new things and did a lot of new things. That in itself is a gift to her.”

I’m letting go of my posturing and worrying and overthinking, although it is not an easy thing to underthink consciously. I have more work to do.  I had never tried it before.

Breathe out, breathe in.

I love my daughter, and I love my granddaughter. I love mu wofe.

I love my life and the way Maria and I are living. That is the now; that’s where we are.

Let’s leave it there.

I’m shedding the ingrained and foolish belief that I am in control of my life.