Despite the fact that all of my siblings and cousins are now in their thirties and forties, we have always seen ourselves as the “kids” while all of the relatives now in their seventies and eighties are seen as the “parents.” Our grandparents and those of their generation lived such wonderfully full, long lives that it never dawned on us that someday we would become the “parents.” This has all changed since February, with the death of our Nanny at the age of 98.
This subtle shift in the family is undeniably complete, as evidenced by a gathering we had at our house yesterday. There were twenty-two of us, which for us is a normal gathering number.
As the afternoon unfolded, there were discussions amongst the elders comparing walkers and medicines, procedures and doctor visits. There were hours of reminiscing and a few bouts of not remembering what was said a few minutes before. Some of us spent the day watching their movements; silently guarding their sides as they walked while others needed to be more overt as they half carried someone down the stairs to a safe landing. We had to raise our voices for some to be heard, and lower our voices for others as a wave of a memory enveloped them. There was no teasing about aches and pains as we have done for years, as these are all too real now for some.
Lest it sound as if the day was always calm, I can assure you that the air was littered with calls for “Mom” and “Dad” all day long. There were real scrapes and invisible cuts that all required multiple Band-Aids. A wasp stung one child and another one hit the back of his head. Yet another child had baseball practice and the others held their own diving competition until he got back. The kids did not seek out the grandparents yesterday, as they intuitively accept that their grandparents are available to them now for quiet conversation, warm hugs and unconditional love. The days of piggyback rides and long walks are over.
Dinnertime arrived and for a short while, everything seemed the same as it had always been. We set up three tables but everyone attempted to crowd around one. There was a minimum of three conversations going on at once, yet everyone managed to be heard somehow. The meal ended and without hesitation, four generations of women (and one husband) were crowded around the island to help clean. I pointed out to my daughters that the reason we all love family gatherings is that the burden of entertaining is always shared and thus isn’t a burden at all. The joy of this moment would be fleeting.
As we said goodnight, I heard tears and quickly realized that they weren’t coming from the little ones that didn’t want to go home but rather from the older ones who now fear that each good-bye may be forever.
So, it really does feel like I am part of a “sandwich” generation, layered in the middle of two generations who both need our attention and our care. Luckily for all of us, love is one of those things that grows in every direction.
No matter which generation you celebrate with this Wednesday, have a wonderful Fourth of July!