So far I haven’t felt one-upped, outshone, or otherwise outdone by my granddaughters’ other grandparents. That’s the good news. The bad news is that my son and daughter-in-law are equal-opportunity heartbreakers. They moved to Europe soon after Isabelle Eva, my first grandchild, was born three years ago, leaving in the dust the whole pack of six grandparents who live in the United States.
Still, there are moments when, as the paternal grandmother, I feel, if not exactly excluded, then not quite on the inside track either. I know that my daughter-in-law, whom I love but hardly ever talk to on the phone, speaks to her mother nearly every day. I am certain that this other grandmother, who is also my friend, is privy to all sorts of news about our children and grandchildren that I may never hear. But this would be the case even if our entire tribe lived in the same zip code, so I don’t let myself fret about it or feel left out—well, not so much, anyhow.
This could soon change—if, as they’ve been discussing, my son and daughter-in-law start spending large chunks of the year in California, where the four other grandparents live; if the other grandparents then become deeply involved in my granddaughters’ lives in a way that my husband and I, based on the East Coast, wouldn’t be able to; if I let those left-out feelings get the best of me and spread like poisonous weeds in a bog.
That last if is really the only one that matters, since it is the only one I can control.
I can’t control where my son and daughter-in-law choose to live. (Their current residence is up a dirt road in a practically uninhabited village in the Italian Alps.) I have no say in how they raise their children. And I most definitely can’t influence how much Isabelle and Azalia love any of their grandparents—including me.
On the bright side, I am in charge of how I react to events and other people’s behavior—and, ultimately, my own happiness.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned during the past three years, it is that grandparenthood offers one lesson after another in the fine (apparently lifelong; who knew?) art of growing up. Issues we thought we’d resolved long ago get triggered all over again. Envy and jealousy? Check. Old insecurities and anxieties over being good parents spilling over into how we are as grandparents? Check. Feelings of powerlessness? Anger at impossible (and possibly insane) relatives and in-laws behaving badly? Regrets over flare-ups of our own foot-in-mouth disease? Check. Check. Check. Of course, grandparenthood is also graced with sublime, incomparable joys, but that’s not the whole story.
What You Told Me
I, for one, was unprepared for the riptide of emotions I felt when I became a grandmother. And, judging by the flood of comments to my earlier column on The Left-Out Grandparent, I am not alone.
Happily, several people who responded described healthy—or, at least, reasonably workable—relationships within their extended families. Alas, many others did not. And though my column focused on my experience as the mother of the father, it is clear that trouble can strike from any direction: the maternal side, the paternal side, as the result of divorce, death, remarriage, you name it. Here’s a sampling:
If you want to talk about being left out, try being the stepmom of the mother.
My daughter-in-law never makes me feel left out. But her mom ... well, that is another story.
I’m the paternal grandfather of two adorable boys, and it’s really painful to live with the fact that I get a few hours every two-four weeks with them, while the other grandparents see them several times a week.
I’m the mother of the mother and I’m just as left out as you. My daughter turns to no one but her husband, the internet and her mommy’s group for assistance.
