Personal Journeys with Gramma

Life adventures, inspiration and insight; shared in articles, advice, personal chats and pictures.

A Different Kind of Love Child

photo2.jpg  Gramma-and-baby3

Birth makes babies but not necessarily mothers.  Although none of us like to think about it, for some the process is simply biological and the resultant small person expendable.  My daughter was born to a woman who did not seem to be capable of selfless love.  The many long-term bruises she left on my daughter’s young body were negligible beside the bruises she left on her spirit.  Once a victim of abuse herself, this woman could soak her children in enough self-hatred to reduce them to uncontrollable sobs in a matter of hours—even at an amusement park.  Her children had nightmares and nosebleeds any night before they knew they were to see her.  “She’ll never let us go,” my daughter told me bitterly one night in the middle of a stream of tears.  “We’re hers.”  My daughter couldn’t even read yet, but she understood the situation better than her court guardian.

Like so many stories of terrible custody battles, the one I walked into when my husband found me and I married him was long and ugly.  The legal system just seemed to complicate matters.  I carefully avoided being between the two factions, but I couldn’t avoid being a part of the awful searing pain.  The ending came like the end of an earthquake—horrific shaking, then frightening aftershocks, and finally an unquiet peace.  At last the woman sent the children to live with us, because they insisted.  I like to think on some level she was sorry for the emotional carnage she had caused.  The children exacted an awful price for her mistreatment.  They eventually severed all ties with her.  I never asked them to refer to me as their mother or call me “Mom.” But after some time, one by one, they did.

Thus, I was thrust into motherhood without ever giving birth.  I didn’t have nine months of excited anticipation or baby showers or congratulations.  I skipped stretch marks and nursing bras.  One day I was a self-centered co-ed and the next, I had a family.  We all worked hard to make the family sound.  At picnics of the extended family, I was the only person who wasn’t biologically related to anyone.  No one wanted to hear my stories.  And, my birth family wasn’t particularly excited about seeing photos of my children.  My husband did what he could to ease my way, but it was my daughter who finally created the family I had missed.

When my daughter and her husband were expecting their first child, I was as nervous as they were.  I was oddly silent during her baby shower.  Other women had to offer advice about the stages of pregnancy.  I had no clue.  I started worrying about the time when the new mother would look to her “mother” for advice.  What would I say?  How would I know?  As my husband and I rushed to the hospital, I wondered if I should be there.

My daughter lay in the hospital bed, her first child in her arms.  “Here, Mom,” she instructed me.  “Take her.”  I was terrified.  I held the new baby like a new father might.  “This is your grandma,” my daughter told the child.  I felt lightning ping-ponging around through my heart.  The tiny pink face squinted at me and settled against my chest.  I was small and huge at once.  My husband smiled.

Since then, there have been other exceedingly wonderful babies who have grown into grandchildren I have to think are nearly perfect.  My daughter and her husband scowl if I question my right to be hailed as Gramma.  “Of course you are,” she scolds.  And I think she’s right.  Deep down beneath logic, my daughter and I believe we were always meant to be family.  I feel her when we’re apart.  Now well-liked, professionally successful, and respected by her colleagues, she created this website to rescue me from emotional exhaustion.  She tells my husband and me that we saved her…and she saved me right back.

6 comments on “A Different Kind of Love Child

  1. Travis Russell
    December 18, 2013

    Truly marvelous is your relationship with your daughter. You are an incredible role model for our children. You are a Mommy at heart and are loved for it. Thank you for saving the most important person in my life. Thank you for letting me share in your life.

    Like

  2. Meghan Harris Russell
    December 23, 2013

    I just want to take a moment to say a heartfelt, “Thank You” to my wonderful family; without whom I would be undone. I don’t want this to seem like shameless promotion or publicity, but I do want to acknowledge my truth; and, in doing so, share that I was saved once upon a time by my parents. They’ve actually saved me countless times, but there was a point early on where it changed the course of my destiny forever…and for that, I am and will always be grateful. It wasn’t an easy save, either, if such a thing exists. My mom recently wrote this beautiful synopsis of my early struggles and posted it on her blog/magazine and, it touched me and my husband very much…for a multitude of reasons. In the spirit of thanksgiving and remembering what’s important this holiday season, I offer my truth to you in the format of my mom’s recent post. Take what you will from it, but know that I would be – and my life would be – very different if not for such a powerful intervention. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for rescuing me and for helping to change the course of my history. Love, love, love…

    Like

  3. www.latkids.org
    February 5, 2014

    This page truly has all the information I needed about this subject and didn’t know
    who to ask.

    Like

    • I’m delighted to be able to share my experiences. Please feel free to let me know if I can provide any other insights you would find helpful. Thank you for your comment!

      Like

  4. Reba Russell Whiles
    April 5, 2016

    I wanted to follow you back when Meghan posted your blog. So excellent! I know Travis thought very highly of you. I miss him desperately as I know all of us do. If ever I can do or say anything to comfort Megham or those precious children I would pray to be able to.

    Like

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