G is for ... Grandparents

When I became a parent, I better understood the sacrifices that my own parents had made. Suddenly I no longer saw them as unfair or irrational but as humans like myself trying to do the best for one that is loved more than life itself.

Now as a grandparent, I've gained a new perspective on the generational gap. I look back to my grandparents and the day that they lived in and forward to the future that my grandchildren will inhabit. The link between the generations seems to be growing stronger not weaker over time.

I was extremely close to my maternal grandmother and even now, almost seventeen years after her death, there are still times that I miss her and long to hear her voice. She was the one who always encouraged me, always understood me, always loved me, never spoke a cross word to me. My love of handiwork must surely come from her for all her daughters are talented with a needle in one form or another. I used to be bemused when people would mistake me for her daughter but now when strangers assume that I'm the mother of my grandchildren, I naturally love it and of course feel proud to be related to such incredible little people. I can only guess that she must have felt the same way.


My maternal grandfather was a quiet hard-working man who loved to watch the cricket in summer and had a sense of humour rarely seen by outsiders. He died when I was expecting our first son and just a few weeks before his youngest grandson was born. That he made it to our wedding was a miracle - having had open heart surgery a month before the wedding. We were married on his birthday and every year on our anniversary I am reminded of him. I think I inherited some of his quieter unseen qualities and I suspect that at least one of my sons shares his sense of humour while another has definitely inherited his good looks. I know he would have been proud of his great-grandchildren.

My paternal grandparents had had my father late in life and always seemed extremely old to me. My paternal grandmother lived to almost ninety-eight so she was probably in her sixties when I was born. But to a child that seems very old indeed.


My relationship with my paternal grandparents was like a tender and fragile seedling that has to be carefully tended in the early years, but when reaching maturity, becomes stronger and able to stand alone. Interestingly, it was my DH who only remembers two of his own grandparents who encouraged me to become better acquainted with my paternal grandparents. I'm glad that I did. One of the hardest things I ever had to do was to say goodbye to my paternal grandmother (by this time my only surviving grandparent) when we left Australia, knowing that I would never see her again on earth. Thankfully all my grandparents were Christians, although my paternal grandparents were in their seventies when they made their decision to follow Christ. My father had prayed for them for years ...


Now it's my turn to delight in the next generation ... to enjoy the characteristics and features of my own sons in their offspring ... to pray diligently for their salvation ... and to have more than enough time and love to go around.

And just in case my sons have forgotten, here's a little reminder: I want lots of grandchildren!!!

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