Grandfathering Strengthens Intergenerational Bonds

©Jane A. Simington PhD.

 

Parents who have had a child die often feel that they have lost a huge part of their future. All the goals, dreams and aspirations they had for that child and for their relationship with that child are gone, and in their place is a deep sadness and a longing for what will never be.

As a bereaved mother I know that while my son Billy can never be replaced and that the dreams we had for him will never be achieved, I have come to recognize that within that knowing is tied a deeper recognition of the cycle of life and of the value of meaningful relationships.

Each day, I marvel at my husband’s parenting and grandparenting. Now that Bill is mostly retired from the world of paid work, he rarely misses a morning phone call to our youngest daughter asking if she needs any help that day with the “boys”. His strong bond with our three grandsons, created from being so frequently present to them and involved in their activities, has helped him fulfill in so many ways some of the unfulfilled dreams he had for Billy and for his relationship with him. The positive effects of Bill’s grandparenting has increased my understanding of how when a family tragedy happens, each member of that family must assist in healing the family wounds and also of how when that healing takes place, the strengthening of relationships becomes like a glue to cement intergenerational bonds.

The family surname creates a substantial link from one generation to the next. Since Billy was the only male heir, upon his death that link was lost. Recognizing the grief her father experienced around that loss, our youngest daughter hyphenated the surnames of each of her three sons. Now, on occasion, to fit the backs of their hockey sweaters, their hyphenated names are shortened to reveal only Bill’s surname. While this may seem insignificant to others, to Bill and me it not only provides momentary joy-filled reminders of how proudly Billy would often turn his back to reveal for his dad his surname and number; it is also for us a knowing that by hyphenating her sons’ names, our daughter contributed to healing our family wound and helped to increase our grandsons’ understanding of their belonging to an extended family, where each family member contributes in both great and small ways to the establishment of bonds of healing, love and family support, that will extend these same strengths into their generation.

Both Bill and I are conscious of how involvement with our grandsons has helped to fill the empty spaces created by our inability to see Billy live to his adulthood; yet we are also keenly aware of how enriched our grandsons’ lives are because of Bill’s frequent involvement with them. It is difficult to say who gains the most from experiences such as when, under his Grandfather’s watchful guidance, our oldest grandson drove for the first time, his Grandfather’s red Camaro convertible; or when his Grandfather did not win any of the car races at Speeders, between him and his middle grandson; or when the youngest grandson urgently ran back home from school, to get the Coonskin hat his Grandfather has previously bought him, so that he could be appropriately dressed for his school field trip to Fort Edmonton.

While it impossible to say who acquires the most from such experiences, Bill and I both acknowledge that the giving and the receiving across these generations has increased our awareness of the fullness of the cycle of life and of how each of us contribute on a daily basis to the turning of that wheel.

I Held You for Three Days

©Jane A. Simington PhD.


“It is not a matter of brain damage; it is a matter of life or death.” I was unconscious. My husband, Bill signed the consent form. The backward fall that fractured my skull had thrust my brain forward, crashing it against the frontal portion of my cranium, causing swelling and bleeding which required life-saving neurosurgery. While I have few memories of those days, I have long since ceased to be troubled by my lack of recall. The five-year anniversary a few days ago, did however, trigger a need for more details.

One of the events for which I sought clarity was around my post-surgical inability to see. I recall having a fleeting awareness of this; and of begging the three Beings of Light, who were always present and seemingly supporting me from another level of consciousness, to open my eyes. As we revisited those days, Bill told me that my failed attempts to force my swollen eyes open had caused me to become increasingly agitated, even to the point of pulling out my life supporting chest tubes. Convincing the nurses that tying my hands down would only increase the agitation; he promised to keep me from touching the tubes. His response to my questioning of how he managed to control my anxiety, is I believe the most loving phrase I have ever, or will ever hear, “I held you for three days.”

While it took months to regain balance and heal the many post-trauma symptoms, today I am grateful for a body and brain that function well. I am thankful for my sight and hearing; especially since because of the location of the injuries, the retaining of these senses is an incredible gift. Most especially, I am grateful for a husband who for three days and nights calmed my restlessness with his caring and loving touch.

Following Bill’s and my discussion, I pondered the power of touch. I know from a previous literature review that during emotionally difficult times, when someone cannot or will not hear words of love, they can still feel love that is conveyed through touch. I also recall that in the early nineteen hundred’s, almost one hundred percent of children who were placed in orphanages died before the age of one year. Later research concluded that these children, while well cared for physically, died from a lack of caring and loving touches. Reflecting on these studies I pondered: Did my living and complete recovery, described as miraculous by the neurosurgeons, result from the love that was conveyed to me as I was being held for three days?