Discussions and Memories

I was home this weekend to throw my dad’s surprise birthday party. On Saturday morning, I took my grandfather with me to pick up the drinks and ice. We were having normal discussions about everything from family to the Pittsburgh Steelers. And then he said:

I need to tell you something.

I couldn’t figure out what he would need to tell me. I braced myself. I expected bad news about either grandparent’s health, a rant about another family member or something about my parenting. Not that I think my grandfather thinks poorly of my parenting but, well, that’s just where my mind went. He surprised me.

He apologized for not showing up at the hospital when the Munchkin was born.

He went on to say that someone (which later came up that it was my dad) advised him that it would “be easier” if he didn’t come to the hospital. (Easier for him? Easier for me? Easier for my dad? For whom?) Grandpa said that he wanted to come but decided not to when he was asked not to do so. He went on to say that he wanted me to know that it was never him “turning me away” and that he always loved me dearly.

I looked at him and said, “But Papau, I thought you were there.”

I can see him, gray hair and beige jacket still unzipped, standing by the wall. I asked him a few more times if he was sure he wasn’t really at the hospital. It turns out that memory was from when I was first in the hospital while pregnant with the Munchkin, undergoing surgery on my kidney. He arrived to drive me back home as I was suddenly incapable of doing anything for myself. That was the beginning of the end for my parenting plans, that day when I was informed that I was high risk and unable to work. Perhaps that’s why I always place my grandfather in the hospital during my stay after Munchkin’s birth. I just simply wanted him to be there, for circumstances to be different.

After I admitted that, prior to the confession, I had always thought he was there, he joked that he should have kept his mouth shut. We laughed together. And then I asked him two questions. I asked, “Do you still love me even though I placed her for adoption?” He said that, yes, of course he did. I asked the harder question: “Would you have still loved me if I had parented her?” He confirmed that, once again, it wouldn’t have affected his love for me. I assured him with those two answers that his lack of presence was not important in the grand scheme of things.

It was a difficult time. Everyone was trying to do what they thought was best, what they assumed was best. It was confusing for everyone. Personal agendas and beliefs conflicted with others and lines of communication broke down. There were misunderstandings and hurt feelings in the months, weeks and days leading up to the birth and it continued for a few months after relinquishment. I have enough time and space from that hospital stay to understand that my grandfather wasn’t purposefully trying to hurt me. We were all confused, all heartbroken as to the loss of what, at this point in his life, is his only great-granddaughter.

I went on to explain that I don’t always understand why things have happened the way that they have; from the actual placement to the on-going grief and loss to the divorce of her parents. I don’t know the exact whys or what they will have helped to accomplish in the end. But I’m okay with that. And he smiled at me and told me that he was proud of me.

I wasn’t expecting a very deep conversation on my daughter with my grandfather this weekend. But I’m glad it happened. Even if it was unnecessary because, in my heart, I imagined him there. I knew he wanted to be there.

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Also, can someone comment to this person as to why walking away just because the “going is tough” isn’t an appropriate action? Thanks.