Sometimes A Quick Text Is All That Is Necessary.

One of my grandsons, at 24, has a very good job with a major TV network. He has been there three years and done extremely well.  Recently he was offered a three-year contract with the parent network.

I text: “Congratulations! So proud of you!”

Return text: “It’s a great offer. I haven’t accepted it. I’m just not sure yet.”

 Ah. I do not know why he’s not sure but I know this young man. If he has doubts, the causes of those doubts are not frivolous.

I text back: “ I hope you will talk to a few people whom you admire and then trust your instincts. You have your own inner wisdom to call on. Don’t ever forget that! There are no mistakes, only learning. xox”

Return text: “Thanks, Gma!” (That’s me)

Later in the day I find myself  wishing that just once someone in my family or some mentor along the way had said something like that to me: wishing that someone who was important to me had affirmed my ability to make good decisions for myself. I would have grown so much from the impact, the treasure, of their confidence.

Are we instilling confidence in our kids, by helping them to believe in themselves, to believe that they can cope with their life situations? Or, instead, are we just giving them our best solutions so that they end up believing in us and thinking that we are the source of all wisdom rather than themselves?

Nobody Told Me

Nobody told me that my car keys would develop a life of their own and take off exactly when I need them.

Nobody told me that putting an electric mattress pad on my bed—running all those cords underneath--and changing the sheets could turn into a real workout.

Nobody told me that to be able to drive to an unfamiliar destination at night would require a reconnaissance excursion in daylight.

Nobody told me that in spite of having gained only five pounds since college graduation, my navel would disappear into a tummy I am only just getting used to.

Nobody told me that a text from one of my adult grandchildren would set me up for the day. Nobody told me I would learn how to text!

Nobody told me that an hour of concentrated exercising would put me on the couch for the afternoon: that pacing myself would become an imperative.

Nobody told me that watching friends become increasingly infirm and die would be like watching the leaves fall from the trees in autumn, generating in my heart an existential sadness interspersed with sudden stabs of grief.

Nobody told me that the ending years of my life would be spent almost entirely with wonderful women.

Nobody told me that over time my butt would pack up and depart, leaving my trousers to dribble around on the tops of my shoes.

Nobody told me that the sight of my older sister, her oxygen tank slung over her shoulder, trudging slowly upstairs, stopping on every other rise to catch her breath, would bring tears to my eyes.

Nobody told me that my creative, quick-witted younger brother, riddled now with cancer, would, as a result of his recent “milder” chemo, spike a neutropenic fever, lose all his muscle strength, be hospitalized and cease to know where he is.

Nobody told me that from time to time I would find myself shaded by a shadow of survivor guilt while, simultaneously pulsing with gratitude for my good health.

Painting by Brandon Stoddard

And nobody told me that we would plow through these rough waters with everything we’ve got.