Wings of Change
The transition of a family.
Change is in the air. I heard the words, and I feel it in my bones. I put my life on hold for my daughter and her children when they needed a home, making room where there was little, making time when there was none. I opened my heart and my wallet and did so gladly and lovingly. The past six years were tough at times. Other family members crowded into our too little space and took advantage of my generous spirit. A brother connived and cheated; a grandmother ran away when needed; a father shirked his responsibilities. I took up the slack and made up for the lack. Stress drilled little holes in my marital relationship and left me in tears more times than I wish to admit.
But there were pleasant times and joyous occasions. We had laughter and singing and sharing of stories and long walks. We swam in the ocean, walked in parades, saw mermaids and manatees in spring waters, and threw snowballs and plunged down an ice slide in a place unknown to winter. We had six Christmases, many birthdays, dinner parties, weekend trips, and school pageants.
I watched those precious children blossom from tiny tots to schoolkids who no longer want to me to walk them to class, but still like to be kissed good-night. I watched my daughter go through many changes — favorable and unsettling. She is an Aries after all, always transforming, always going too fast and burning too bright. She can be delightful and exasperating, helpful and hindering, generous and selfish, appreciative and ungrateful, busy and lazy. We’ve had our moments of pure joy and quiet contentment and our moments of heated discussions and deep resentments.
The last six years have been an exhilarating and unexpected ride, one I will always treasure, but now the end is in sight. A move is in the works, or at least in the beginning stages of planning. I, always the worrier, see pitfalls and perils but I can no longer, and should no longer, handle all the arrangements and orchestrated actions that make up the fiber of our daily lives. I can advise, although advice is rarely welcome. Mostly I need to sit back and ride this out as quietly and as encouragingly as I can. It isn’t easy for me to cease doing what I have been doing for all these years but I must.
I am sad and apprehensive but also a little relieved and more excited that I would have guessed. Age will soon forbid the long hours I can work at my profession while dedicating myself to helping raise two children. I am already feeling the exhaustion of a too-busy life. My mind leaps at the idea that I may be able to cut back on my work when there are fewer financial responsibilities to consider. I laugh with delight to think of the evenings that I will no longer be helping with homework until 10 pm or later. Giggles erupt when I dream about an entire day doing what I want to do. My imagination goes wild thinking I may have more than a few stolen minutes now and then to write. I find myself eyeing rooms that will be empty and considering how I will use all that extra space.
I used to be a fun grandmother before long hours of homework after even longer hours of work, before parenting disagreements and issues about housekeeping. I was once less frantic before keeping track of my schedule, my clients’ needs, my daughter’s ever-changing work and class schedules, and the children’s school calendar. I want to retire the tired, grumpy grandmother and be the fun one again — the one who spends more time laughing and less time lecturing, more time playing games and less time teaching long division.
Change is coming so I may as well be a little selfish and figure out what benefits it will bring me. The future won’t be easy, and there will be tears and worrying in the middle of the night, but maybe this is the time for me to retire from taking care of everyone and spend some time taking care of me.
