Even Zoom can’t slow down our grandparenting time
I’ve become a Zoom grandparent, and I’m having a difficult time with that.
It’s been about 11 months since I’ve seen my son Sydney and his family in Rhode Island. We had planned to visit them several times this year, but you knowwhat happened to that. Whenever we consider defying the pandemic to drive to the East Coast, the virus positivity rate worsens.
My grandparent role models were my mother’s parents, who lived in rural Illinois, about two hours away fromour St. Louis County home. The oldest of four children, Iwas sent to Kinderhook every summer to luxuriate in love and attention.
Theywere hands-on— huggers and sometimes spankers. Withmy grandfather, the owner of the village grocery store, I delivered bags of food to housebound widows. Withmy grandmother, an Avon lady, I helped prepare deliciously scented packages thatwe loaded into her Chevrolet Malibu. Some folks inevitably remarked that I looked just likemy mother while others with filmed eyes addresse dme by her name, Patty Lou.
My memories remain visceral, eliciting images of white-paper-soaked hamburger packages, and smells of Honeysuckle toilet water.
When Iwas 10, my grandfather died. I continued visiting my grandmother every summer until I became an adult, and then I brought her to me. My daughter, Rachel, is her namesake.
I inherited the house in Illinois over 15 years ago, caring for it from a far until I retired. Then I moved to Illinois, to live in the place thatwas imprinted onmy heart.
Nearly a year into the pandemic, I’ve been able to see Rachel’s daughter in Naperville a couple of times, strictly under Illinois’ guidelines. But I yearn to see Sydney’s two children, too, and despair over time lost.
Howdo you measure missed memories?
Wewere not there for two birthdays, Grandparents Day at their school, Halloween or Thanksgiving. We won’t be there for Christmas.
In the past 11 months, our 3-year-old granddaughter has been potty trained, moved froma crib to a twin bed and relinquished her binkie. Her vocabulary swelled, and she sings new sentences in original songs. When she faces a challenge, she calls herself “strong Mika.”
Our precocious, gender-fluid, 9-yearold grandchild reads multivolume sagas like “Lord of the Rings,” and “Harry Potter.” Lukas uses personal pronouns, “they” and “them.” A year ago, theywere erecting 150-piece Lego sets. Now they’re undaunted by 600-piece creations. Always a sensitive child, Lukas is troubled by ugly politics, racial injustices and climate change. Sometimes, they cry themself to sleep.
I know many grandparents mourn being separated from their families. In my small village, some have it farworse. Several widowed and isolated neighbors have health problems and can’t drive. My husband and I visit awoman in her 90s, in her open garage, pandemic-style, for dessert once aweek. She eats slowly, taking tips of teaspoon bites, to prolong the company. With winter coming fast, how will we continue to see her?
Time is always elusive, but it moves faster when you’re a grandparent. There’s just not that much of it left.
In the past fewweeks, news has turned more positive. We have a president-elect who believes in science, and new hope that vaccines will arrive in days.
My plan is to continue reducing risks by wearing masks, limiting social contact and staying informed. I intend to stay strong and alive.
Because my grandchildren aren’t yet old enough to remember. Me.
Time is always elusive, but it moves faster when you’re a grandparent. There’s just not that much of it left.