There were several posts floating around yesterday that seemed to have a recurrent theme of “Who do you want to be in all of this – because you have the power to decide who you want to be”. It percolated most of the evening in sort of a mental back burner. It’s something I know rationally – but the picture in my head is just sort of a vague notion that I should be strong and sensible – it’s not really fleshed out.
Then last night with this all bubbling in my head – I dreamed about my grandmothers.
My maternal grandmother was a 5 foot tall spitfire. She was a twin and one of 12 children, and while not impoverished certainly came from limited means. During her childhood, her twin died, her country was on the losing side of WWI, consequently there wasn’t enough to eat for years, several of her beloved brothers were killed and her mother and father basically died from grief before she turned 15. My grandfather immigrated to this country and it took 7 years for him to have enough money to afford to send for her, and during that time she worked like a dog as a ladies maid. He was living on the west coast and could only get her to Halifax so then she had to work for another year to make her way across the continent. Once they finally married, she lost her first child, because a nurse gave her the wrong drug when she was in labor and basically killed her full term infant (this was in the 30s).
That’s the abbreviated list of her misfortunes. How did I know all of this? Not from her. I learned most of it from my Mom when I was an adult. When Grandma talked about her youth and childhood, she only spoke about the songs they sang as they walked to school (and was always willing to give a demonstration), the polkas she danced (more demonstrations), the funny tricks her brothers would play on her and all the wonderful times they had together. Never a word about the other stuff and never any self-pity, that’s for sure. She was charming, she was happy and she was alive.
My paternal grandmother lost my grandfather to a fever in 1933. She was 28 years old and had 4 children under the age of seven, including a new infant. Her parents gave her a little help; she got no assistance from my grandfather’s family. And again- I don’t really know the details, because she never spoke about them. I know this though – she was a widow with four kids in the middle of the Great Depression and she worked sorting apples in a factory. Not only did she keep her family together, which was a feat in itself, but all four of her kids went on to college and good professions. She was a woman of great faith, who worked tirelessly quilting and sewing to raise money for her church. Her needs were few. She lived on a pittance of social security, wouldn’t take help from her kids and somehow still managed to save up 30,000 in the bank by the time she passed away peacefully in her sleep at age 98. She was one of the most content people I’ve ever known.
Who do I want to be? I want to be my grandmothers. I want to not be defined by misfortunes, and I don’t want to pass the legacy of those misfortunes on to my descendants. I sure don’t want my grandkids to know me as the spurned woman that Grandpa left. I want them to know me as happy, alive and content (I don’t think I will ever be able to manage charming ). And I can make that happen.
I know I will still cogitate about STBX, and that I’ll still occasionally wonder “Why”. I know we will have a lot of rocky hurdles to jump over as co-parents. I’ll still have plenty of moments of fear and self- doubt. But, I have to keep my eyes on the prize. Who do I want to be? I want to be my Grandma(s).
). And I can make that happen. 
