The Other Grandmother
It is my great honor to share grand children with a most wonderful human. The woman who birthed and raised my son in law has my deepest respect.
First and foremost — she has raised four sons. Let me clarify, four intellegent, kind, male humans. All of them. Every one. Not a bad apple in the bunch. That is no small feat.
My grand children are three out of her seven total grand children. When my daughter describes get togethers at her husband’s family home, you can nearly hear The Walton’s Theme playing in the back ground. My grand children have these kinds of relationships in their lives because of this woman and her warmth. My daughter is accepted into the fold of this family with humor and care.
I listen to my grand children tell stories with unmitigated enthusiasm about their adventures when visiting their Other Grandmother. They love her and feel her love for them in return.
And finally — this very special woman — opened her heart and her home up to both myself and my ex-husband at various holidays whenever we might be at lose ends. We were never considered in-laws, we were family. Even though we were divorced, if one or the other of us were alone for a holiday, we were always welcome to come and join her family and be with our grand children. And celebrate together. Because family.
This Grandmother business is surely a pact. No other person on the face of the planet can understand how precious my grand children truly are. Except her. When I look across the family tree to the branches on the other side and see her there, I am comforted. I know — we got this.