Friday, October 16, 2009

A Band Aid Named Grandma

Yesterday I learned that I am only a band aid. I can't heal wounds. I can only hold a soothing salve next to the wound protecting it until it heals, even if it becomes a scar. I can only do the best I can by offering comfort.

Wisdom! I need wisdom! Most of my life I've struggled to find answers, love, happiness. We all do. Broken marriages, empty relationships, job loss. Argh! My basket is full of poor judgment and mistakes. The older I get the more I learn that I know very little. I want more time.

My grandchildren are experiencing their parent's divorce. My daughter is trying to find herself, and through her divorce, my son is tossed back to when he was a child. Scars. They remain.

'For better or worse'. No one really explained that some days I would feel absolutely nothing for that man I married. No one told me that he might feel the same about me. For then valid reasons, we divorced. And, I'm very sorry it came to that end. I have not had that man to share memories of babies born, of family vacations, of loving each other's families. I will not have his hand to hold in my old age or someone who will remember me a his young bride. All our of firsts become seconds. For our children, there is a void in time wondering where they fit into their parent's decision to separate a family.

Some marriages need to be undone. But I think we live in a time that most people believe only in 'for better'. Me? I feel sad for the pain my children suffered and for missing those times with my children when I was just looking out for myself.

I cannot go back. I cannot take away those scars. As a mom, I wasn't a good band aid. And now my granddaughters are struggling to understand the same as did my children. Divorce. The word makes me hurt.

As much as I want to make it better, I can't. I can only watch and listen trying to be open to whatever the girls need, helping them come through this time still admiring and loving both parents, not feeling guilt and growing into the beautiful, healthy women they will become. Sometimes it just hurts, but I work to be strong.

I am a band aid. I cover the wound when it opens with words of love and arms to hold. I fight my desire to get involved with parents who need to find their own way. I pray for the healing of everyone and try to be a protect all of us who are hurting. My band aid? The sweet voices of little girls who tell me they love me, who want to come to my house and who make themselves at home when they walk through the door. Perhaps in some way I'm not so much a band aid but the salve that calms the wound.

God help me. God help all those children who struggle and need a grandparent to just listen and love. Band aids. We can do it.

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