Role-ing along: My latest identity crisis

Hard-won lesson #4672: Do not make any decisions regarding where to move/live based on where the adult children/grandchildren are located.

Of course I know this already — which is why we moved to New York because of my husband’s too-good-to-pass-up job offer and not for the progeny. It just so happens that my son, his wife and the new grandbaby live in Brooklyn. And that the ONLY apartment we could find is within walking distance of their place.

Timing couldn’t be better, thought I, as my son is part-way through his doctoral dissertation while holding down several teaching posts, Ginny works from home and with an infant added on top of their already crazy lives, I could be SUCH help! Not to mention that thousands of miles away from home, I’d have a ready-made life just waiting for me: Mason’s Grandma.

And it’s been an amazing couple of months, I must say. Picture me strolling over to the Farmer’s Market to meet up with my daughter-in-law and baby Mason with three puppies between us in tow. Then back to my new apartment nearby to “hang.”

It was a new Grandmother’s dream: grandson discovering the special drawer she’d set aside for his new stash of toys. Beaming as Mason squeals at delight over not only the shiny new rattles and colorful blocks inside, but how the door on the pull-down drawer opens and closes. Homemade lemonade anybody?And a lovingly pitted apricot for Mason served to him on his specially-purchased highchair.

This is one of those moments were my life makes total sense. I need nothing more. I have a great job, am delighted when my husband comes home from work, and as for the rest: I’m Mason’s grandma. Forget about having to reach out and make new friends in this new place. Figure out what to do with spare time. Grapple with what is most meaningful. I know who I am and what I’m doing.

Now turn the page. It’s a few days later and I’m over at their place, wearing my specially selected wash-and-wear grandma clothes, and my son asks me to sit down to talk. No way to mince words. They’ve been offered a cabin in the Smoky Mountains to use for free for a year. Grant can concentrate full-time on completing his dissertation and, well, it’s an offer they can’t refuse. They’ll be gone September 1.

Faithful readers will recall several blogs ago, when I so presciently wrote: “I feel that having crossed this new threshold, I’m ready for anything.” The truth is, anything but this!

Of course, I’m thrilled for the kids — what a great opportunity for them to simultaneously simplify their lives and speed up the pace of their “what’s next.” And yes, we all cried — made plans to Skype weekly and see each other for Thanksgiving and Christmas — and all the other good stuff long-distance grandmothers do. I’ve been there, so I know we’ll make it work.

But I’m left with a role-shaped hole in my psyche. I mean, I know what I do for a living. I know whose wife I am. But what about the rest? I was once again, as happily as a pig in mud, delighted to be building my everyday life around somebody else’s needs. I was going to be Mason’s grandma, and that was going to dictate where I live, what clothes I wear, what I’m shopping for and who I’m hanging with.

Now, the challenge and the gift is to figure out how to put myself into the center of my own life — at least between visits.

I must admit that two out of three roles set and settled are nothing to sniff at. As for the third role, it’s a month before I have to store the high-chair and decide which of the toys in the drawer to send to the Smoky’s, coming to terms with the fact that Mason will outgrow at least several of them before I see him again. And figuring out what to put in the unexpectedly emptied space? Something bright, shiny and new for me to grow into…no idea what as of yet…along with a hanky or two.