by Paula Neidorf
The word Grandparent – foreign, terrifying, symbolic of something I will never be in my life.
Another empty hole, this one unknown, imagined.
It brings a heaviness and heartache that is indescribable.
I had two sets of grandparents, and I reflect on the joy I had and the special things they did with me as a young child. I know that feeling was reciprocal.
Our only child also had wonderful relationships with his grandparents.
We thought our family of three was the perfect number.
My life was taken away in this subtraction problem.
3 takeaway 1 = 2.
It zeroed out my love, my child, a future, and a legacy.
As my friends were adding to their collection of grandchildren, sporting pictures on cell phones and facebook, boasting of the next event (rightfully so), I somehow suspected I would never be a grandmother.
I expressed that, knowing Kevin was busy living his life, going on adventures without the responsibilities of a family.
Having children, seemed for now, not part of his plan for fulfilling his dream. I was ok with that.
After all, he gets to choose his path, as an adult.
But there were days, moments, and triggers of watching others prepare for occasions I would probably never take part in, that I naturally envied.
At times it bothered me to see and hear about things I might not experience. But I had my son, and the future with grandchildren or not was still uncertain.
Then came tragedy.
Tragedy became complete and utter destruction.
We not only lost a son, we lost our legacy – a continuation of who we are.
Our nuclear family is gone.
Our future has vanished.
Never to become a grandparent represents a concept, a vision, the tip of the iceberg above water level.
It is a secondary loss but is just as destructive.
We, the parents of only children or all our children no longer living, have also expired from devastation and the longevity that would naturally follow.
If to lose your only child or all your children is the most obliterating thing on earth, then to have no one to transfer memories, albums, heirlooms, within what we would call the nuclear family line, is something unexplainable.
We were hoping for that, counting on it. Facebook sites about loss are questioning who now takes the legacy from us; the photos, memoirs, the baby clothes, the first hairbrush, the trophies, the baby teeth we may have saved?
So many of us have no one. Who do we hand the baton to?
Or will the most important essence of our love and memories wind up in a dumpster?
Realistically, even nephews, cousins, nieces, if you are lucky enough to have them, will have their own collection of things to inherit. They do not want our stuff.
My mind repeats words that bounce off walls, reverberates, and deadens me, words like…
emptiness
loneliness
longing
heartache
memorabilia
photo albums
remembrances
engagements
weddings
baby showers
preschool graduations
illness
nursing homes
caretakers
These words take on a different emotional meaning when you lose your child/children and have no grandchildren.
It’s Not Only My Dead Child I Miss
Navigating stores with pink and blue baby aisles – another daily reminder.
Playgrounds with swings, moms and grandparents with baby carriages, all trigger the complete emptiness.
Giggles, cuddling, comparing physical looks to personality between our child and their offspring… never to happen, all thoughts erased.
I now have no choice but to alienate myself for self-preservation, while I mourn, from those who continue to flaunt their children and grandchildren in my presence.
Yes, I say flaunt.
They know how I feel. Why then take out the cell phone in front of me to share pictures of their precious grandchildren?
Can you not wait till I walk away?
Holding their grandchild does not make me feel better.
Being substitute grandmother does not work for me, at least not now.
A friend posted on Facebook:
“When the child you love
Has a child you love
With all that is
Within you, only then
Will you know just how
Grand being a grandparent
Truly is.”
I will never have this experience.
I can only imagine.
I can only unfriend these people, hide their posts, and distance myself.
I want them to understand that I sincerely wish them:
*only good fortune
*a long and healthy prosperous life filled with many healthy and happy grandchildren
However, please keep it to yourself.
I cannot deal with it..
Please understand this is about me, not you.
Do not be angry if I cannot attend your baby showers, hold your new grandchild, hear your stories, or view your cell phone pictures.
Not Everyone Gets A Rainbow Baby
This doesn’t bring me peace, just angst and intense emptiness.
It is just too painful to accept that I will never have that warm, loving embrace, the cooing and the giggles of my own flesh and blood, or from an adoptive child I might have raised.
I could accept no grandchild if I still had my son, but not now.
This is a double whammy. No remaining children, no grandchildren, the worst possible place for any parent to be.
I am just trying to survive in a world that takes many things for granted as the “norm,” such as being a grandparent.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thank you, Paula, for putting words together to express my feelings, too. Our only child went to heaven 3 years ago after drowning in a hunting accident. Now his friends are starting to graduate from college, getting their first jobs, houses, engaged, etc. While we are thrilled for them, part of the grief comes back in knowing I will never be the mom to have those experiences with my son. I scrap-booked many years of his life and now what?
There is not enough support out there for parents of child loss. It has changed everything in our lives.
Carrie, you are so right. There is not enough support, nor is there research showing the profound impact these losses have on us. Thank you for sharing.
It’s been a huge gut punch for me. I struggled for years to conceive with tests and infertility drugs and then struggled again for years to adopt. I couldn’t look at happy mothers and their babies, couldn’t go to baby showers, etc. And then we adopted our son, my only child, who took his life at the age of 28 over 9 years ago. So…..I struggled in the beginning and at the end. Is there anyone out there who can possibly understand the emptiness of both ends of the short stick?! I know life isn’t fair and I do find much joy in life. I find things to laugh at almost every day. When my niece and nephews all grew older than my son was when he died, the lump in my throat stuck hard. And when two of them married recently, it was harder yet. They will, hopefully, go on to lead full lives giving their parents grandchildren. I will be happy for them. But they will never, ever understand my pain. Nor do I want them to. I am not alone but this is, as I was told years ago, a very lonely grief journey.
Robin, you are not alone. I have two friends who adopted an only child, both passed. One was cancer, the other suicide, also. But we are so scattered that we live in isolation. Keep writing and try to encourage groups in your area. I got a group started for parents who lost their only child. I was tired of feeling misunderstood by parents who did not lose their only child, and/or have grandchildren. While some can overall be understanding and supportive, we have our own set of problems that are unique.
My heart breaks for you…I, too, lost a child, but had another child who gave me 2 grandsons. I feel the loss of my children my deceased daughter never had.
I can imagine that, too.