I’m Learning How to Miss My Grandchildren Without Letting the Quiet Become Loneliness

Dear my grandchildren,

I never want you to call me because you feel guilty.

I don't want you looking at the date and suddenly thinking, Oh no, I haven't called Grandma in two weeks.

I don't want my name on your phone to feel like another responsibility waiting to be checked off.

I would rather receive a five-minute call because something reminded you of me than an hour-long conversation you made because you felt you owed it to me.

That may sound simple.

It has taken me a while to understand it.

Because there is a strange lesson that comes with loving your grandchildren as they grow older:

You spend years wanting them close, and then love asks you to become good at letting them go.

Not completely, of course.

Just enough.

Enough for them to build lives that don't revolve around you.

Enough for them to miss a Sunday dinner without believing they have disappointed you.

Enough for them to become adults with jobs, relationships, children, friends, responsibilities, and traditions of their own.

I am learning to do that.

But I am also learning something else.

Giving you room to live your life does not mean I have to sit quietly waiting for you to return to mine.

There must be something in between holding too tightly and feeling forgotten.

I think I am finally beginning to find it.

The Quiet Can Sneak Up on You

Nobody really prepares you for how gradually life can become quieter.

It doesn't happen all at once.

For years, there is noise everywhere.

Children calling from another room.

Doors opening and closing.

Telephones ringing.

Appointments.

Work.

Groceries.

Laundry.

School events.

Family dinners.

Someone always needing something.

Then slowly, almost without noticing, many of those responsibilities disappear.

The children grow up.

Retirement arrives.

The grandchildren who once spent entire afternoons on your living room floor become teenagers and adults with places they need to be.

The calendar opens up.

At first, some of that quiet feels wonderful.

Then there are days when it feels different.

You look at the clock and realize you haven't spoken to anyone since morning.

You find yourself checking your phone even though you know nobody has called.

You think about calling one of the grandkids, then stop yourself because you don't want to interrupt.

And that is when the mind can begin telling stories that aren't necessarily true.

They're too busy for me.

They don't think about me anymore.

Maybe I'm not important to them now.

I have had to learn that quiet is not always rejection.

Sometimes quiet is simply quiet.

And if I fill every silence with the fear that I am being forgotten, I can accidentally turn love into something painful for both of us.

I’m Learning Not to Keep Score

This may be one of the most important things I am trying to change.

I don't want to count.

Who called last?

How long has it been?

Which grandchild visited most recently?

Who stayed the longest at Christmas?

Who remembered to text?

Love becomes exhausting when it turns into bookkeeping.

And the truth is, I don't know everything happening on the other side of your silence.

Maybe you worked ten hours.

Maybe one of the children is sick.

Maybe you are worried about money.

Maybe your relationship is going through something you haven't told anyone.

Maybe you are simply exhausted.

There were times in my own younger life when I loved people deeply and still went too long without calling them.

I understand that much better now.