God Bless the Grandparents of the World...

            The truth is that I (pretty much) lived my life without grandparents. My mom’s parents both passed away before I was born. My dad’s parents were alive, but they lived in Oregon.I maybe saw them once a year – maybe! That grandfather died when I was 11 years old, which left my grandma. She continued to live in Oregon, but when she visited our conversations grew a little deeper, and a bit more meaningful. She did get to attend my wedding, but then died less than a month later.

            When I met and married Todd, he still had both full sets of grandparents. It seemed so strange to me to have that constant grandparental influence in his everyday-life, and to have these four older family members as such a large part of all their family’s events and holidays. I never personally had the opportunity to relate to what that grandparent/child/grandchild relationship meant or what its true value was (or even could be).

           My first real glimpse of how sweet the relationship could be was when my sister and her husband had their first child, John. I was only 13 at the time, and probably the youngest ‘aunt’ of everyone I knew. It was fun to see my mom and dad’s reactions to the baby, and how they enjoyed and embraced their new role of grandparents. Since I’m the youngest of four kids, more nephews and finally a couple of nieces followed – each child thought of in some special way by my mom and dad.  

           When my son, Tony, was born in 1985, without a left forearm and hand, our two sets of parents were the first calls Todd made. They all handled the news fine on the phone, but they each told me later that after they hung up, they all shed some tears. I’ve since learned that it’s natural for those who love us (in this case it was our parents) to look inward at a time like that, examining their own family medical histories. They desperately tried to connect some dot from somewhere – anywhere - down some familial blood line that would explain why in the world this had happened to their children (Todd and me) and their brand new grandson (Tony)… sort of a “was it something we ever did?” reaction.

Later that day when I called my mom again, this time from my hospital bed, she tried to talk to me about the baby and what had happened earlier that morning, but I cut her off short, saying I wanted to move past ‘the arm thing,’ and not talk about it ‘anymore.’ Funny to think about that now because it seems that most of my adult life has been spent talking about that very thing - and now I’ve even written a book about it! But on that particular day, I was hurting… and so were our parents. (Here’s a link for more info about the book)

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_13?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=katie%20kolberg%20memmel&sprefix=katie+kolberg%2Caps%2C132&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Akatie%20kolberg%20memmel  

            Ever since I had kids of my own (now mine are grown) I can honestly say that I love those two kids more than I love myself. I’d rather have something of serious consequence happen to me than to either one of them. And I’m sure most good parents feel something similar to that – just like my parents did. When they heard that our child had been born with a ‘birth difference,’ they hurt for us, and questioned what the future might hold for all of us. At that moment if they could have stepped in and endured our worry for us, they probably would have… in a heartbeat.

            But that’s not the way it works - we all need to see our own lives through. The best our parents could do was to be supportive, show us they loved us, stop by, hold the baby, make some lunch, babysit occasionally, lend an open ear and a strong shoulder to lean on once in a while. That’s all any of us can do for each other. But it’s a lot…  

            Since becoming a part of the Lucky Fin Project, I’ve witnessed first-hand the love some of these grandmas and grandpas have for their little grandkids. I’ve found a real soft spot in my heart for the grandparents of this world. From little on, I didn’t really know what that relationship felt like; but as I age, I’m seeing such a beautiful connection between grandparents and their grandkids. I love to step back and watch familial interactions, watch the expressions on their faces, read the love they have in their eyes as they watch the kids run and play, and receive the occasional on-the-fly hug. As many of you know, both of my children have been married since 2009, so I get asked quite often, “Do you have any grandchildren yet?” and I answer, “No, not yet, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy it if I ever have that opportunity. ” Every single person that I know, who is blessed with grandchildren, reiterates how much they enjoy their role of grandma or grandpa or nana or papi or hampa or dramma – whatever their little loved ones happen to call them.

            But one thing is certain… the love runs deep. Grandparents love their own children (just like I admitted to loving my own), and when they look into those brand new little faces of the next generation, it’s like reliving their own early parenting experiences (without the responsibility of parenting) except for that they now deeply love TWO people (three, four, five, whatever the number) more than life itself – their own son or daughter and their brand new grandchild. Those grandmas and grandpas love in the good times and in the very toughest of times. They hurt with us and for us.

Is it possible that the more people we have to love, the more love we seem to have to give? From what I’ve seen, the answer is… yes. God bless the grandparents! 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference.” For more information, go to her website: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com