Asters & Dandelions

Those who have read my blog(s) know my childhood was lackluster at best. As so, my young, bitter heart clings to the good memories I have. My first positive memory I can recall was a birthday present; a tiny blonde “beagle” my grandma gave me. I don’t remember how old I was but around five is my best guess. My birthday is in September and I remember that next school year spending countless hours in my backyard; away from the chaos and the noise, away from the smells of musty ashtrays and warm beer. Sandy was my only friend in the world for so long. The only one who I came home to that reacted to me like I was a speed bump in the middle of their afternoon cruise; one of those unavoidable inconveniences one just has to endure. He stayed outside so I did too. I remember often hiding under the shed in my backyard so my parents wouldn’t see me out the kitchen window and make me come inside before “the neighbors saw”.

Another huge chunk of good memory from my childhood was summers when my grandma would take me to Boone, NC to visit my great grandparents. Despite not remembering large blocks of my childhood, I can remember so many tiny details of those summers spent in Boone. I remember the goose down mattress I slept on in my great grandparents house; how it felt as if I was being swallowed whole in the best way imaginable. I remember the matching goose down pillows and how I slept like Aurora every night in that room. I remember how independent and free I felt having my own room there; waking up to smells of breakfast and sweet blackberries from my great grandma making pies and jam from the berries I picked the days before that grew alongside her driveway. I remember taking advantage of the rare peaceful wakes and playing in “my room” alone for a bit before joining my family in the kitchen. I remember Tweetsie Railroad; the noises, the smells, even how the air felt better as it filled my lungs. I even remember the smell of that cheap, felt cowboy hat I wore an entire summer one year. I remember the smell of bubbles and honeysuckles, regardless of where I was outside of the house.

My grandma seemed to live life parallel to the chaos I endured growing up. I always knew she was around but our paths crossed only a handful of times a year. I would later grow up to learn that she crossed paths with the chaos I endured more than I’d have ever known as a child; often having to choose between a relationship with her grandchildren and enduring the weight of the hurricane that was my parents and cleaning up the wake their storm left in her life or missing out on many moments when I was a child and holding onto her own mental peace and personal prosperity.

Our relationship stayed on that parallel track aside from a few crossed paths during my hard years as a young adult that never ended diplomatically to put it kindly. The turning point of our relationship occurred during a time my faithful readers know far too well when I was in Korea with no support system, carrying the twins, raising Riley from complete bedrest, and battling some of the darkest depths of my mental health I’ve ever endured. During that time, my grandma and I spoke every single day. Throughout the years I have distanced myself during my struggles as I always do yet after that first week of not talking, she always calls. If I don’t answer, that’s okay but the next week there is always another call. No matter how many weeks and how many calls go by before I pick up the phone, I am always greeted with the same patience, love and kindness as if no time had passed at all; no explanations needed. Finding and growing my relationship with my grandma will always be the best silver lining to that dark phase of my life.

Throughout the years since, we’ve taken turns sharing dark times and truths we’ve kept hidden from the rest of the world. Piece by piece we’ve built a relationship free of judgement, resentment, or obligation. Some phone calls are heavy and leave us in tears while others are simple car rides catching up on what Gabby got stuck in her hair or her dogs’ million peculiarities. With each phone call, regardless of the topics, if it’s a five minute talk or a two hour discussion, or even if both of us are willing participants or not, our friendship grows deeper and richer.

My relationship with almost all of my family is strained at best, nonexistent at worst. As I stumbled, okay fine, more like fell down several flights of stairs, into the adult world, it seemed as if my relationship with my grandma would be no different. While I of course wish my life had been free of all of my hardships, I am thankful that it crashed me into the path that led to the friendship and bond we now share.

Today, nearly seven years since our daily, transcontinental FaceTime calls began, I can truly say the trust, acceptance, guidance, humbleness, and honesty I gain from my grandma is the purest, most selfless form of love anyone can receive and the only form of long term, nontoxic, mutually gratifying, biological love I’ve ever received. Growing up in a cavernous world where the only relationships I knew to exist were selfish, toxic, and self serving. Learning what it means to have someone who shares your blood and your genes and yes, even your transgenerational trauma is a gift that fills my souls and assures my ever skeptic heart.

I celebrate everything my grandma is to me and my crazy family; today and everyday. I could never thank her enough for teaching me it is never too late to heal and grow relationships, for validating me staying afloat in a world I was never taught to swim in, for unconditionally loving me when I share my dark sides and deepest mistakes, for sending my kids singing memojis every birthday, for never resenting me for my distance or when it takes me 6+ months to mail out those school pictures of the kids, for sharing her journey through our shared ocean of trauma and all the likeness of her struggles she sees in my own, for crashing through walls of generational curses with me hand in hand, and maybe most of all for showing me that I am worthy of being loved by the family I was born into without resentment or entitlement. Without her love and friendship, I may have died never knowing if that was possible.

“Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you feel lost.”

-Alan Cohen