The Grandma Gleam
They shall still bring
forth fruit in old age. . . .
— Psalm 92:14
When people are asked about their
favorite childhood memories, they don't mention toys, trips to Disneyland, or
other elaborate, expensive things. By far, they say what meant the most was
spending time with their grandparents.
How true. I remember sleepovers at
Grammie's, and her celebrated pancake feeds. Her roses, and the funny way she
drove. Racing our cousins around the house at frequent get-togethers. And how I
always got to go to camp free, because Grammie worked in a big office and sold
candy for me like nobody's business.
Meanwhile, Grandpa regaled us with
wild tales of his boyhood adventures and his days running slot machines. One
time he fanned $100 bills out before our eyes after a big day at the races just
to see our eyeballs bulge. We thought he was ten feet tall, the most important
man in the world. And yet he liked nothing better than to sit on the couch and
listen to us play the piano or sing.
Most of all, I remember how they
looked at me. There was a gleam in their eyes, a glow from a place down deep. A
place that only forms when you've been in the love business for a while, and really
know what you're doing. They made me feel fiercely beloved. What a priceless
blessing.
Once you've received it, you know it
when you see it. So it was with joy recently that I watched a first-time grandmother
holding her weeks-old grandson, gazing at him and stroking his little bare
feet. Her eyes were magnetized on his Winston Churchill little face . . . while
on hers was that telltale Grandma Gleam.
You're never too old for love. Isn't
it grand?
It was extra sweet, too, since she'd
shared with me that, as a child, while she was well cared for, she never felt
as though she was really, truly beloved. Something was missing. She just didn't
feel special, valuable, adored, cherished.
She said, "It made me feel like
nothing."
The pain remains. She says she can't
get rid of it.
Except . . . now she has a chance.
Because now she is a grandmother.
And she's eager to give the caliber of
love to this little one that she didn't get, as if somehow, that will make
everything right. You know what? In the incomparable calculus of love, somehow,
it will.
She had a blast preparing the
layette, redecorating a room for the new baby, and fantasizing over all the
things she wants to do with him . . . all the things she wants to be for him.
She'll never feel like "nothing"
again. She's determined to be "something." Somebody. Somebody SPECIAL - who
will give him her undivided attention, her complete support, her smiles, her
winks, her nods, her hugs, her all -- nothing held back.
The kind of a grandma who clambers
down on the floor and plays games . . . who flies kites . . . who cooks
favorite foods . . . who loads 'em up with "I love you's," as much as their
hearts can hold.
And now, the first one's here. He's
big, beautiful and bouncing. She's been holding him a lot, and crying a lot.
The good kind.
"Pretty soon he's going to get that
baby smell and I will NOT be able to get enough of it," she sighed.
I got tears in my eyes over all the
love pouring out of her, knowing that it would multiply with each additional
grandchild, each act of love for them serving as an act of healing for herself.
Someday, I believe those grandkids
will argue over which one Grandma loves the most.
They'll all be right. Because she'll
love them all the most that she can.
That's the kind of Grandma she's
going to be: one whose love shines out from a place down deep. It's a place God
designed especially for the elders among us -- the ones who know that giving
love is receiving it, too -- the ones who really know what they're doing.
The ones the children call "grand." †
