The words of “Saturday, In the Park,” penned by Robert Lamm and sung by Chicago, echoed throughout my senior year in high school. Many years later, they’ve been ringing in my mind the past few months, especially one line: “and I’ve been waiting such a long time for the day.” I’m not on the lookout for dancing people, laughing people, or “a man selling ice cream.” Instead, “I’ve been waiting such a long time” to write this column, knowing it would signify the safe arrival of our fourth grandchild, the sweet Emma Belle Shade.
Our youngest son Dan and his wife Becky announced the news of their pregnancy as our family gathered for a Christmas celebration. Their sister-in-law Lauren was pregnant as well, two months ahead of them as she and Greg prepared for the birth of Henry Kyle, brother to the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday.
How fun! Two new babies to welcome to our family in the spring of 2019. Yet just past the midpoint of their journey, Dan and Becky discovered they were facing a high-risk pregnancy, resulting in a fifty-seven day stay in the antenatal unit of the hospital. Our family had already experienced a NICU stay with Elizabeth, and for weeks, we prepared ourselves as best we could for an imminent birth and a repeat NICU residency. How grateful we all are that with extensive medical support, the faithful prayers of family and friends, her parents’ extreme patience, and Emma’s cooperation, she was born just a day shy of week thirty-eight, with chubby cheeks and a head full of black hair.
There is a sense of the miraculous in every birth, as each mother’s body can attest to. I remember looking at my firstborn with incredible awe, wondering how on earth I could have possibly birthed a child. And how was it possible that the milk produced by that same body could sustain my child’s life outside the womb? As amazing as the birth of each one of our sons, seemed, there is an extra measure of the miraculous to claim in Emma’s birth, as her tiny life was at such risk. I am – we are – overwhelmed with gratitude.
I’ve been asked, with grandbabies #3 and #4, am I still a smitten grandmother? Absolutely. Can you multiply “smitten” by four? Writing about the love grandmothers feel, Lynne Sharon Schwartz describes me: “There’s something suspiciously viral about the condition: relentless, forceful and all consuming.”
So now what? I love being the Magical Nana of playground visits, ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles, and generous clouds of fairy dust. I’m cherishing newborn cuddles with Emma, and soaking in toothless smiles from Henry. Thinking ahead to next summer’s “Adventures with Nana 2020,” I may even need to purchase a mini-van to accommodate all these kids. Dream on!
Yet I cannot become all consumed in these four little ones without giving thought to the world they are growing up in. I ask myself each day: what kind of legacy are we leaving to our grandkids? Silly Forrest Gump jokes are sure to come from Emma’s paternal grandfather, Larry will offer Donald Duck sneezes, and I’ll have a song for every occasion. Our legacy may include funds for college, a precious collection of spoons or stamps, or a piece of heirloom jewelry, a reminder of their heritage.
Ours will also be a legacy of presence or absence. Being fully present to a grandchild, no matter location or time, will create lasting connections. Our boys were blessed with my dad’s ability to be present to them, especially at the video store and on the pool deck.
Yet I’ve also been thinking of the bigger picture of legacy. At age twenty or thirty, will their world be at peace? Will ocean rise be claiming coastal cities? Will the stranger be welcomed or rejected in their community? Will the faith that sustains us be theirs as well?
William James suggests, “The great use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it.” A generous legacy for Emma Belle, her precious cousins, and the children of the world.
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