I Love You From “A to Z”

My heart is full, but today, with every beat, my heart ebbs and flows with memories that intertwine with the present. Yesterday, my fourth grandchild was born. She weighed in at 8 lbs 12 oz, a petite pixie compared to the birth stats of her brother. At the minute, I’m writing this as my grandson and I watch a Garfield cartoon. Garfield was always my son’s favorite, so I am excited to share it with him, but now I have a craving for lasagna. Hmmm, shortly I’ll be in charge of making dinner.

Thoughts of my dad have floated around quite a bit lately. Oh, how I would love to talk to him about his latest great-grandchild and share my excitement. My dad loved children, mostly other people’s children; he always seemed to have time for everyone else and was too busy for his own kids. It’s complicated. In some ways I understand because I interact with other people’s children weekly. From my own experience, my parents never seemed to have enough time or interest to be bothered with me after a long day of working and dealing with the chaos of life. But those chaos memories are not the ones that have been bubbling up today.

With the birth of my granddaughter comes the excitement of her naming. I wasn’t asked for any input about names for my two older granddaughters, but they have lovely names that fit them well. I was included in lots of conversations about naming my grandson; it was important to find a name that was easy for my daughter-in-law's family to pronounce because they do not speak English and some letters are difficult to pronounce in Korean. After a long history of teaching, many names have different connotations and memories for me-- some positive and some not so positive; but the reality of the situation is that I’m not the one naming this little girl, her parents are naming her. The names I’ve suggested over the last nine months are not names that they have contemplated; matter of fact, some of the names I’ve suggested were thrown out because of translations to Korean. They’ve been teasing me with all sorts of names...some I’ve hoped are just a joke.

So, a memory of my dad bubbles up from over forty years ago when my step-sister was having her first child, a boy. I don’t know if they knew the sex of the baby before his birth, but when they shared the name they had chosen, my parents thought the name was too unusual and my dad started calling my nephew by his middle name. I remember all of the discussions that went on behind the scenes and most of the concerns about the name being too “old fashioned” and the worry that the child would be made fun of at school.

At the end of the day, my parents were not naming this child...his parents were. Well, even though I’ve known the names my kids have been kicking around for months, and even though I’ve offered up many alternatives, I’m not responsible for naming this baby...they are. Well, they stuck with the first name they had chosen, but to my surprise, they changed the middle name from the name I thought she would have. They had told me her middle name would be Nova because my son believed his daughter would be “as bright as all the stars”; however, the other day, he told me her middle name might be Leah. I asked him why not have her middle name be after his grandmother -- even though I really don’t have any attachment to my name, but I am kind of amused by how it came about. Two of my sisters and a brother visited my mother in the hospital to be introduced to me. My mother commented that there were already so many children and now this new baby also needed a name. She pointed at each of them and said, “Give me a name, give me a name, give me a name.” Each of my siblings called out a name and the three names were written on my birth certificate. In any case, my son told me that they had actually discussed using my first name as her middle name and this conversation led them to Leah. Hmmm, so Nova was scratched, kind of like the way racehorses that can’t make the race are eliminated and announced...another reference to my dad.

Okay, now to work on the first name, that if I’m honest, is just like fingernails scratching on a blackboard...well, perhaps it isn’t all that bad. What really helped was when we discussed how they planned to spell my granddaughter’s name because they were undecided and so I suggested they add the “y” for Zoey. I was also aware that Zoe is one of the popular girl names for new babies right now and had hoped that information would change their minds, but my daughter-in-law informed me that Zoe was also popular in Korea right now...so, all the names I suggested were being scratched. My children had made up their minds. Besides, my son loved the idea of saying that he loved his little girl “from A to Z” because his name starts with an “A” and Zoey starts with a “Z”. Cute.

I brought my grandson to the hospital to meet his baby sister; he wasn’t too thrilled. He’s not yet two and his mom is a major part of his world. Again, I understand. When I showed him the picture of his mom and his new baby sister, he rolled his eyes and screamed. I showed him the picture again when we were in the waiting area. This time my son was sitting next to him. He rolled his eyes and buried his face into my son’s stomach; my grandson wasn’t much interested in seeing “his” mom with someone else. Again, I understand.

Another memory bubbles up for me; I’m not sure how old I was, but it was surely a defining moment for me. My parents, my dad and step-mother, are playing cards with a number of people around the dining room table. The kids are banished to the family room. Eventually, I am sent upstairs by an older sibling to “see what’s happening” and report back to the crowd of kids in the downstairs family room. Well, I climb the stairs and pause at the rod iron railing. I looked up into the dining room at the moment that a woman, a stranger to me, says, “I have three, Dad.” This threw me into a whirlwind; why was she calling my dad “Dad”?

I went back down the stairs to “report” to the others. After reporting what I had heard, I inquired “Why is this lady calling my dad, DAD?” I told them what I heard and my older sister and brother laughed at me. I was old enough to know that he was my siblings’ dad too, but as the youngest girl, I didn’t understand why this stranger was calling him “Dad” too. This is when I learned that the “woman” was one of my sisters from my dad’s first marriage. My dad was her dad. I was confused. This confusion continued when I witnessed “my father” put the needs of other “sisters and brothers” before the needs of his younger kids...where I happened to fall. Of course everyone has his or her own perspectives and memories about how a childhood developed, and from mine, my dad seemed to put everyone else’s children ahead of his own. There are lots of stories, but the one that comes to mind in this minute is when the lady down the street wanted a bicycle for her kid... my dad bought her one. When I happened to tell this story a few years ago, my friend said, “At least you had a dad.”

I’ve known many kids from single-parent families and know some realities of men that have left their children and responsibilities behind; I also know the same truths of women that have left their children-- even from personal experience. My point of view is different; it’s different from many, but it’s also the same. When I was growing up, there were so many of “us” that the younger ones became insignificant. We were left to fend for ourselves. My father wasn’t a part of our lives, and he didn’t make an effort to know what was happening or what we were doing. He was busy, and it was easier not to know.

As I held my granddaughter today, I thought of my dad, I thought of my younger self, and I thought of my granddaughters from my elder son’s first marriage. The memories ebbed and flowed over my heart as I thought about the years that have gone by. I used to find myself “wishing” things had been different, both for myself and for my older grandchildren. I can wish things were different with my own upbringing, and I can wish things were different with the upbringing of my older grandchildren, yet I need to accept the way things unfolded. Wishing that the past was anything different from what it was is fruitless. Our experiences are what they are and have been, but we can learn from our experiences and at the same time, we can forgive and move on.

As I held this baby girl, I realized that she is indeed a Zoey. She’s a lucky girl to have been born to this mom and dad and to have her loving brother. I know I’m blessed to be here and involved in their lives as a mom and grandmother. If I’m going to spend any time making wishes, I’ll wish much love, health, and happiness for all of my dear loved ones; may they have fond memories and know how much they are loved and appreciated. And in this moment as I prepare to leave for the hospital to visit again, I’m thankful for so many more reasons. I’m thankful they’ve called upon me to “babysit” while our new member adjusts to life...welcome to the family....Miss Zoey Leah...you are so loved, from “A to Z”.

Cheers,

Lisa