My Interesting Answer to an Inner Conflict

I have an inner conflict.

Because I was only 19 when my first son was born, 21 when his brother came along, and 35 when I gave birth to my daughter, I now have two sets of grandchildren. The older set range in age from 20 to 25. The younger set range in age from due in December to seven. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I didn't get as much time with the older grandchildren as I would have liked. I lived with it.

Knowing all too well from our personal experience how times flies when you are having fun with your children's children, my husband and I have more control over our schedule in our sixties than when we were younger, and we've used this latitude to arrange our lives around the smaller set. We ask for them often, and are offered them often -- under normal circumstances.

They live only 30 minutes away, but their stay-at-home mom's schedule is very hectic, as you can imagine, dropping off and picking up two of them for school at different times, regulating the baby's nap, and taking the others to swim class, gymnastics class, and so on. Their father (who is so nuts about them that it brings squirrels and baseball games to mind) works at a very challenging and stressful job. Coming home to them every weekday and having weekends with them are what keep him going. Understandable. Because our time with them is what keeps us going too.

So here's the conflict: My son-in-law's job provides a very comfortable lifestyle for his family, but it comes with the possibility of transfer to a distant location. My daughter has recently pointed out that my husband and I need to prepare ourselves for the possible separation by spending less time with the little ones, and she is the one in complete control of if and when we get to have them. So the question becomes, is she right? Should we spend less time with them now so that if/when they move away it will be less painful? Or should we pursue every moment we can muster, while they are nearby?

Inner conflict can be explained as the conscious part of the mind (where we do our thinking) disagreeing with the subconscious part of the mind (where we do our feeling). Sometimes that line becomes muddled and the information stored mentally intermingles, as is the case for me now. Then the answer to the dilemma becomes, "I don't know."

Normal circumstances don't always prevail. My daughter is pregnant (hormonaly challenged) and I am 70 (read old and crotchety, not to mention hypersensitive). We both have a history of depression and she cannot take medication in her condition. My depression is episodic, not chronic, therefor medication isn't recommended (plus many years ago when the problem was chronic, I experienced undesirable side effects of all medications I tried). All this adds up to a mother/daughter relationship that is touchy and... tenuous... at times. Such as now.

This means that we can only see her children when she deems it acceptable. At her will and mercy, as her father puts it. This leaves us in a very uncomfortable position because we know from experience with our first set, that little ones grow big in the blink of an eye. If anything were to happen to us within the next few years, Annabella's memories of us would be hazy, Evelyn's even more so, Olivia's and Scarlett's nonexistent. (How much do you remember before the age of seven?) We've made certain to take photos of all the goods times we've had with them, but photos can only hint at a relationship.

My husband and I, alone together, take solace in enjoying each other and the many activities we share. But without our grandchildren (around whom, under normal circumstances, we plan much of our our lives), our corner can seem very dark and dismal. At least we're in it together. Frank and I handle testy relationships differently. Emotionally he holds them off at a distance, whereas with me they're as close as the nose on my face. We balance each other out.

There is a metaphor I've created for the aging process. When our children are old enough to drive, we sit in passenger seat next to them. Later we're moved to the backseat because someone more important is up front. Eventually we're put in the trunk to make room for others in the back. Then, at some point in time, we're taken out of the trunk and placed somewhere in a corner of their lives. Despite our full lives, when we are too long from our grandchildren, Frank and I have found our corner can sometimes seem dark and dismal. That's just the way it is.