To Catlin’s great dismay, I’ve never made any secret that I’m waiting for grandchildren. Bless her, I have a stuffed antique bear grandchild and a dearly loved departed grandcat. But her life cycle hasn’t yet rolled around to the mom stage, and that’s fine. I’m patient.
Mike blessed me with two adorable grandkids that I get to share. They are smart and funny, clever and well-mannered, and I love them to pieces. Their parents are doing a wonderful job raising them, and they brought so much light and sunshine into Mike’s life. He just adored them, as do I.
We loved the weekends they spent with us. Playing board games, playing games in the yard, watching them learn and grow. Mike was planning on hunting season, fishing – so many life skills he wanted to share. And now, it’s just me, carrying on for both of us. I’m not Poppy, and I’ve not been with them since birth. But I’m determined to let those little ones know how much they mean to him, to us. How much they are a part of our lives.
So here I sit, waiting for the dance recital to start. Our little star is dancing in three numbers – ballet, tap and jazz. She’s the tiniest one in the group, but by golly, she knows her steps! And her grin just flat lights up the stage.
I think about so many things, sitting here. All the dance recitals where Catlin performed – from age 2 until her senior year. How often I cried in sheer pride, just watching her dance. The year her dad and I divorced, and she danced through it with a huge grin, even with all the turmoil swirling around her. The senior recital, when she danced her farewell duet with a broken arm – and no cast. Both dancers’ moms were openly sobbing during that one – and the lyrics, “For Good”, didn’t help much.
Catlin’s dad produced and edited the studio’s video for the recitals, so he saw them through one eye – the one glued to the video camera. Her Nana was in the audience for many years, as was Al. Her newly blended family was pretty much her only cheering section. Neither Al nor Nana really cared about the rest of the program, but they lit up with pride when Catlin came on stage. She tells me that no matter her other performance gifts, Nana’s flowers are the ones she always remembered.
Our granddaughter has a great cheering section tonight. Both her grandmothers graciously let me share proud step-grandmother duty. Uncles, friends, and more family members populate a good portion of our row of bleacher seats. Catlin couldn’t make it, but she’s waiting to hear all about it. There are flowers and stuffies and lots of hugs waiting for this tiny dancer.
This blended family thing is new for us. Mike wanted this so badly – to have all of us together celebrating the grandkids at their life events. He talked about it more and more over the past year, and I know as time passed, he would have made it happen. If his health had held out, he’d be sitting right here beside me. I don’t think he would have made it through a 3.5 hour recital with no intermissions even on his best day before cancer(!), but he would have been there front and center for his pumpkin’s dances.
And I have a feeling he would have been shedding the same tears of pride and love right alongside me. Healing tears.
Because in the end, in all its forms, it’s all about family…at 62.
At 62 