WILL HE REMEMBER?
by Maria Harden


I have a confession to make. I am in love with a younger man.

It is a deep and lasting love unlike any other I have experienced. When we are together, all is well with the world. When we are apart, I long for his presence to fill the ache in my heart. For over four years, his unconditional love has completed me like the last piece of a puzzle. I now understand when poets and romanticists describe how they would lay down their life for someone they love. I would do the same.

The object of my affections is my only grandchild. I marvel at being a grandmother, but I wear it well, like a comfortable coat that feels right. I wonder why I do, since I have little experience having a grandmother. My maternal grandmother died before I was born. My paternal grandmother lived in Europe, and I only recall her visiting us once, when I was about fifteen. When my parents sent her a plane ticket to come to Canada for my sister's wedding, she came, but the language differences made it difficult for us to communicate. I wonder what she felt when her son packed up his family and moved across the ocean so many years ago. Was she missed? Did she make memories for her grandchildren before they moved so far away? I wish I had known her better. I wish she had come with us.

If you've never had it, you don't miss it, and so it is with not having a grandparent present in your life. I never knew what I missed until I became a grandmother myself. Sadly, I have no memories of her when I was young. I can barely remember anything until I began school, and even then, they are only half-remembered fragments. Sometimes I am not sure whether something is a real memory, or a suggestive one based on hearsay from family members. Emotional memories are important to a child and are retained, even in very young children, but how resilient are those memories, over time? My biggest concern is that my grandson will not remember our days together. Time is fleeting and steals memories of yesteryear, evaporating with the dawn.

Our days together, grandmother and grandson, are filled with fun, learning, and play. Some days, we just sip at the day, savoring it slowly, and other days we take a deep swallow and taste all it has to offer.

With the consent of his parents, I have been fortunate to be part of many "firsts" in his young life. I was the first to take him to see Santa at the mall. I took him to his first movie, his first trip to the beach, his first haircut with "a real lady at a real hair-cutting place." We have enjoyed lunches at restaurants, visits with friends, excursions to museums. We have ridden the bus and the train. We have scoured the neighbourhood for garage sales, played in parks, fed the birds, splashed in puddles, raked leaves, picked pine cones, and built snowmen. Will he remember any of this?

I wonder if he will remember who taught him how to crack eggs, and how to whisk the batter nice and smooth for the pancakes he loves so much? Or how we built a secret fort under the dining room table, with blankets? Will he remember who played endless games of Checkers, Candyland, and Chutes and Ladders with him, while teaching how to lose gracefully when warranted? Who taught him to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on the piano, his little fingers stretching to cover the right keys, his face a study in concentration?

My grandson rejuvenates me. Seeing the world through his eyes is nothing short of wondrous. His energy is refreshing, and his infectious giggle makes me laugh. I pray he will remember the lullabies, the laughter, and most importantly, the love, when he is grown and has a family of his own.

Will he remember me?


Maria Harden © 2003
mharden@escape.ca