Sunset
As the twilight of my teenage years deepened into the sunset of my adulthood, my relationship with my grandmother continued to dissolve. It seemed that the older I got, the less my grandmother could accept my maturation, and her desire to coddle me became increasingly unbearable. The gifts I once viewed as guilty pleasures transformed into disturbing symbols of my grandmother's desire to freeze me in time--I soon amassed a useless collection of cutesy knick-knacks, jewelry, and undersized nightgowns with pictures of furry animals. I could live with a series of bad gifts, but I found it very difficult to cope with my grandmother's refusal to treat me as an adult.
As my college graduation drew near, my grandmother stopped summering with us. Instead, my parents moved to Arizona to keep a watchful eye on her. Every year, I would spend my Christmas vacation at my parents, and we would always spend a few days at my grandmother's. I dreaded these visits and bided my time while I was there waiting impatiently for our departure. I rarely initiated conversation with my grandmother, for our conversations tended to consist of her dragging me down the memory lane of my childhood instead of expressing interest in my current activities. Refusing to dwell on the past, I learned to avoid such interactions with my grandmother, preferring to participate solely in group discussions so that no opportunity for her inability to accept or care about the person I had become could reveal itself.
Life moved forward, and I continued to only see my grandmother at our dismal Christmas gatherings. As I saw her getting older and her health beginning to fail, the nature of our relationship became an increasing source of guilt. I wanted to reconcile the rift that had divided us so many years before, but I had no idea where to start, nor did I really have any hope that such a bridge could be built. If my grandmother couldn't accept me for who I was at the moment, how could we ever forge a meaningful bond that would move our relationship forward?
What I really wanted was to be able to adapt the type of relationship
we had when I was a small child into a modern version that enabled us
to relate as two adults, not as a nurturer and a nurturee. I longed
for us to be able to translate the bond we used to share through story
times, shopping and swimming trips, and baking lessons into the type of
relationship you see in the Hallmark made-for-TV movies, in which the
granddaughter and grandmother have been able to grow with one another
and share a bond that is based on their mutual adult interests.
But, I didn't know how to go about creating this type of relationship, nor did I take the time to talk to my grandmother about our problems and see if we could develop a more satisfying and fulfilling bond. Instead, I learned to cope with the lack of a granddaughter-grandmother relationship in my life, mainly by not letting myself think about the fact that I did not have this element in my life.
Three years ago, my grandmother passed. I was saddened by this loss, but surprisingly, there was also a sense of relief. I no longer had to face the fact that I couldn't make a relationship that should be so essential in my life work. I no longer had to feel embarrassed and guilty that I couldn't stand to be around the woman whom everyone else heralded as the most wonderful person on the face of the earth. And, I no longer had to try to avoid picturing my grandmother in Arizona, knowing I should reach out to her, but also realizing that such an attempt wouldn't be out of desire, it would be out of a sense of duty.
As I attended my grandmother's funeral and closed this chapter in my life, I contented myself with the following knowledge: me and my grandmother loved each other, and even though we didn't have the type of relationship I always wanted, my memories and our undying love would have to be enough.
