Grandparents

I composed a blog entry in a magazine recently. When I reread it today, I realized not only how important Pam is to me, but how much I love her for how important she was to you. She and Grandpa were your best friends. I often thought about how happy I was that you were so near them and able to spend time with them. When your Grandma Madge passed, you were heartbroken because she was your best friend at that time. She died shortly after your assault and there was no space for grieving for any of us and I am still sad and sorry about that. When you moved to Mammoth, I missed your belly laugh and worried constantly about you, but I was happy that Dad and Pam got to know you like we did, your sardonic humor, your wit, your incredible intelligence, your ability to put people in their place while they thought they were receiving a compliment. Your laughter filled any room you entered, your generosity was quietly demonstrated on so many occasions. I am forever grateful they were able to know you and love you so deeply. How lovely the relationship of granddaughters and grandmothers and grandfathers! The following 300 word blog was written July, 2011:

“She’s not much older than me” I whined when my father told us of his upcoming marriage. Visions of the evil stepmother from the fairy tales I’d grown up with loomed large in my head.

“Maybe you’ll become friends one day,” he said hopefully.

“Never!” my seventeen-year-old mind shouted.

Even though I had reconciled my parent’s divorce after twenty years and four children, my allegiance was to my mother. My way of showing loyalty to her was a promise not to send Mother’s Day cards to “that” woman.

  But of course, years passed, we all matured and our families grew. My father was happy and healthy, and married to his best friend.

  She would never give birth, so it seemed fitting to ask her to be there when we had our first child. Afterward, she wrote the most beautiful letter I’ve ever received. It was gracious and heartfelt as she thanked us for allowing her to be part of something so special. It was then that I realized how much I had grown to love her.

  Thirty years later, just days before my mother passed from cancer, she whispered to me that I could send Mother’s Day cards to my stepmother now. “You know, honey, she’s been very good to all of you.” Guilt joined hands with my grief.

  And as far as the fairy tale goes, the stepmother actually became the Cinderella in our story. She emerged as the intelligent, funny, independent, beautiful woman with her prince.

  My brothers and I may not be her children, but we are her family. Our children are her grandchildren and their children are her great-grandchildren.

What started as a predictable fairy tale became one of my most cherished happily ever after endings because she became my friend.