Yoga Instead

This post may be a little far-fetched for a “yoga” website, but it came out of me in just ten minutes this morning.  It talks about an aspect of personal growth, and, who knows, the practice of yoga may have helped me to arrive at this special place.  So, allow me to share what follows:

It has taken all of my 62 years for me to understand how much my grandmother loved me.  I always knew I was her “favorite” because she looked at me with an expression of adoration, was always excited to see me, always told me I was beautiful and talented, and was warm and tender when she sang me to sleep and rubbed my back at night.

When I was in elementary school, we’d go off to do errands downtown, holding hands, singing songs, walking and swinging our arms back and forth to the rhythm of the melodies.

At her house, I watched her bustle around the kitchen.  This was how she taught me to cook home-made style — improvising, rarely using recipes.  Every Sunday we had a formal luncheon — a roast with potatoes and gravy, vegetables, and dessert — served on her finest china, with linen and silverware, including finger bowls, no less.

We lived in the same town until I turned 12, when my mother re-married, and moved us four hours away.  I knew my grandmother was heart-broken, even though we visited her every summer.

During those summer visits, my grandmother continued to reach for my hand whenever we took a walk.  I was becoming a teenager and was too embarrassed to display any public affection.  It also annoyed me.

As the years went by, she moved even farther away, to Florida and I, to Japan.  Visits were rare and infrequent.  She was getting old and suffered several small strokes.  The few times we did get together, she repeated herself all the time.  I had become a mother myself and was coping with raising my precious babies in a foreign country.  I was tired and self-centered and irritated every time she repeated the same question over and over.

Grandmummy died at age 82 of a stroke.  I remember going to her memorial service and burial — sad, but rather numb without much emotion.  I was too wrapped up in myself and my own life.

So…now, here I am…the cycle of life is moving along.  I recently became a grandmother.  I thought being a grandma would be a nice thing, but it took me by surprise.  It was more amazing than I ever could have imagined…it was a breath of fresh air…it was a miracle.  The first time I saw my grandson, Max, I couldn’t stop staring at him. I was enraptured.

Now he lives four hours from me, and so I understand how sad my grandmother must have felt when I moved that far away from her.  I try and visit Max every chance I get.  Zoe, grandchild #2, was born a week ago, and I’m going to see her next week for the first time.  I imagine I’ll feel the same way about her as I did about Max just two years ago.  There’s so much love to go around.

Max

It took Max’s arrival to make me realize how much my grandmother loved me.  I felt bad for not visiting her more often, for not holding her hand when I was a teenager, for getting impatient with her when she was old and senile.

I have since moved back to the town where I grew up.  I had never visited my grandmother’s grave until recently.  Now I check in with her once every couple of months.  I sit quietly by her graveside and tell her how much I love her and that it took my becoming a grandma to understand how much she loved me.  It’s very peaceful sitting there.  I sense that she understands, too.

Namaste, Jane

Zoe (2 weeks old) and me