Snapshots of a Miracle

As parents, the miracle of a child’s development seemed to pass us by like scenery through the window of a speeding train. We spent our days, feeding, bathing, diaper changing and coaxing into bed and suddenly, and without warning, our children were transformed from tiny, helpless infants into small encapsulations of humanity who talk a mile a minute, endlessly play peek a boo and get lost in books. One day they are in diapers and the next they are in college. Conversely, as grandparents, we have the best seats in the house from which to watch and marvel at the miracle of a child’s development.

Each day, Jo and I observe this miracle through the lens of Facetime. One day, Bina scoots across the floor on all fours. The next, she is taking tentative first steps. In a seeming blink of an eye, she is toddling about, bent on exploring the world. One day she utters a tentative “hi” – perhaps the first word she shared with us. Within weeks, she is naming all of her animals, saying “Hello Bubbe” and naming Augie (our Labrador Retriever) as he comes into view. From the comfort of our living room couch, through the tiny window of an iPhone or IPad screen, we watch in wonder as Bina hugs and kisses her stuffed animals signaling her entry into the magical symbolic world.

It is child development in stop-action and even the space of a day can reveal the emergence of a new cognitive, physical or emotional leap. “Hi” and “Bubbe” merge to become “Hi Bubbe” – a first sentence. Pigtails appear. Tentative steps become running.

Video communication is a great blessing for remote grandparents. We are not strangers who descend once every two or three months and who must be reintroduced and reidentified. As new grandparents, these calls bring us joy and delight that frames our days. But while video communication is lovely, it is also a bittersweet reminder of what we are missing. As we observe Bina playing and tramping around her living room 650 miles away, we wistfully long for a hug, a small child’s tush sitting on our laps as we read a book, the sweet fragrance of a baby waking from a nap.
But tomorrow will bring another Facetime call and more snapshots of miracles – and, of course, a window into the joy that is a grandchild.

Comments

Allowing our Grandchildren to Find their Own Space….From the Tree

I recently found myself leafing through my dog-eared copy of Andrew Solomon's " Far From the Tree ," a masterful book that illuminates the dynamics and challenges of children and family members who, because of identity choice or cognitive or physical differences, upend the intergenerational cliché "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." In the opening chapter, Solomon identifies two types of identity: Vertical Identities: "Attributes and values are passed down from parent to child across the generations not only through strands of DNA but also through shared cultural norms." Horizontal Identities: "May reflect recessive genes, random mutations, prenatal influences or values and preferences that a child does not share with his progenitors." The dynamics of children's and grandchildren's horizontal identities can be especially complicated for grandparents....

Pop Jacob, Pop Max and Won-Ton Soup

Like many of us, I had four grandparents. And, also, like many of us two of those grandparents were grandfathers. My father’s father “Jacob” emigrated to the United States from Romania in 1902 aboard the La Champagne sailing from Le Havre, France. On that same ship was Rachel Moskowitz who would soon become his wife and, later on, my grandmother. To say that Jacob Raphael was taciturn would be an understatement. There may have been a time when he smiled – but I have no memory of such. Every Sunday our family would pile into our Pop Jacob and Nana Rachel’s home in Crown Heights, Brooklyn for a seemingly interminable visit. And each, Pop Jacob and I had the same conversation: “Duvid, he would say from his lounge chair near the front door, “what is the Parsha HaShavuah” – (the weekly Torah Portion). And, each week, I would answer: “I don’t know.” This must have been hard on him as, I ...

The Bina Trail

This past July, a heavy summer rainstorm deposited perhaps 5 inches of rain on our Sandy Springs neighborhood along with an 80-foot oak on the roof of our home. The tree removal, which involved an array of heavy equipment not generally intended for suburban usage, also destroyed our yard’s limited landscaping. Desperate to transition our backyard from a post-apocalyptic landscape to something fit for human habitation, I reached out to our local UGA Extension office. Several weeks later, Abra, an advisor from the office, visited our home to assess the lunar-like landscape. Observing the ¼ acre arbor of dense trees behind our yard and, noting that I had a granddaughter, she suggested that I create woodland trails to explore. “For the grandchild” were the three magical words that catalyzed me into action. A week later, Atlanta Arbor, the company that had so expertly removed the oak encased in our roof, deposited a truckload of wood chips on our front lawn. ...

The Zayde Chronicles

Search This Blog