Before my husband and I moved to southeast Idaho from Michigan in 2008, I read a startling statistic . . . in a publication that now escapes me. . .which said less than 1% of grandparents move to be near their grandchildren. It never occurred to me that I would be part of any elite group, let alone this one. But indeed, I am.
Our daughter is an only child, raised to be independent and strong. Aah, the double-edged sword of that parenting philosophy! No matter how much I practiced the art of encouragement with her, and tried to give her the 'wings' of metaphor, I was unprepared for success!
Despite my nudgings regarding closer-to-home universities, she flew from high school and my hands to the state university furthest from home, determined and diligent. The day we left her at Michigan Tech. University in Houghton, Michigan . . .my little girl, only child. . .was having dinner with a new group of friends at a local restaurant. . . and I was crying all the way back to the Mackinac Bridge, a five-hour drive.
She found her heart's true love and soul mate during a co-op experience in Fort Wayne, Indiana and in 2003 followed him to Idaho. I remember the phone call and her delight in reporting she'd been offered a professional position in her love's new community. "Mom, will you and dad drive me to Idaho and help me start my life's great adventure?"
Me, with hesitation and a wee bit of hope "Are you sure he's the one?"
Her response "I'm 115% sure!"
We drove her here, remembering all across I-80 the many and myriad summer trips we'd hauled her on during her childhood. Both my husband and I taught high school, so June and July to us meant "hit the road." Daughter in the backseat, tent in the trunk, off we'd go to seek new sights and adventures, always taking time to drive through the campuses of various unversities during our treks (Stanford, Wisconsin, Nebraska, Northern Arizona, to name a few). All the while encouraging her to live her dreams, never did I realize I secretly believed her dream would be closer to home!
We left her here in July, and again I wept for three days as we drove east. I wept in Yellowstone, one of my favorite spots on the planet. I wept along I-90 and through the Plains states. I wept when we returned home, knowing that my home was now, officially, no longer hers.
We became quite acquainted with the I-80 corridor between Michigan and Idaho and frequented it often enough that we could identify traits and characteristics of the various Comfort Inns along the way.
After one particular trip, as we drove away from her yet again, anticipating the 1,800 mile trip eastward, I wept. My husband instituted a new rule "You're allowed to cry for 100 miles, then you must stop!" It worked, sort of. But I did tell him, "I can stop now, but if there's ever a grandbaby in the rearview mirror, I'll need more than 100 miles!"
He concurred. And so, on Christmas eve, 2007, when she announced during dinner "I'm pregnant" (which I suspected when observing she was not drinking any of our traditional champagne punch) . . . my husband's immediate reaction was "Well, we'll just have to kick this moving thing up a notch."
Prior to the big news, we had discussed moving to be nearer our lovely daughter and her husband and future family. Not only did we miss them terribly and longed to be part of their lives, we also wanted to be fair. She's our only kid. And, despite our relative youth and good physical health, we tried to be pragmatic. At some point, one or both of us will probably need her help. I wasn't about to wait until the best I could muster would be "O.k., I'm ready to move now. Come and get me and all of my crap." That simply would not be fair to her.
I must point out, however, that both she and my son-in-law invited us many times to move here.
The Michigan economy being was it is, we were flabbergasted when we put our house on the market in March, showed it once, got an offer and we were moving! June 4, 2008 we officially landed in Idaho, our collection of life's stuff following in a U-Pack tractor-trailer, us towing our pop-up camper and no place of our own to call home. We'd purchased property near the kids in May, 2006 and our new home was under construction . . . for six months we bunked with daughter and hubby, trying to be unobtrusive and helpful meanwhile anxious to have our new house completed and so eager to meet, whom we now knew, would be our grandson.
The tale of his grand arrival can wait for another entry, but in the meantime. . .we have exchanged the roles of early-retirees (I was 47, he 52 when we waltzed out of our high school for the last time) for that of nearby parents and full-time daycare providers. Now 17 months old, this wee one spends 40+ hours with us weekly, delighting us with his antics and achievements. We spoil him with hugs and kisses as we recall what it means to 'parent' vicariously a toddler. And I wonder, do the other 99% of grandparents realize just what they are missing?
