Thoughts of a newly minted great grandma

By Natasha Josefowitz, Ph.D.

LA JOLLA, California — Last week my grandson called—his twin boys were born in San Francisco. A few days later my uncle’s granddaughter called from London—she is expecting a little boy in June. This morning my granddaughter called from Toronto—she will give birth soon too. A couple more grandsons with serious girlfriends in tow will most likely hear wedding bells in the near future; one when he will be finishing his medical internship and the other when he gets his MBA and a job. Yes, there will be more great-grandkids.

I am already working on two needlepoint pillows with their names and birth dates. I have a nice story about my needlepoint pillows: I was attending an engagement party for the daughter of good friends and brought the new fiancée my just finished pillow with her and future husband’s names and their upcoming wedding date. She took a look at it and ran upstairs to her bedroom to bring back her baby pillow I had made for her 20 years ago. I will be busy making pillows with the various names of great-grandchildren being born and grandchildren getting married.

This October I am entering my tenth decade. As all these grand-babies are entering our world, I will be exiting it. I will most likely not know them in their teens. Even if I make it to 100, they will be only ten years old. Although my children and grandchildren have heard my stories and have been privy to bits of wisdom as well as unsolicited advice, this next generation will only have some vague memories of a very old, wrinkled, little great-grandmother. I have read somewhere that it is important for grandparents to model what old age looks like for when the grandchildren will be at that age, they will remember their lively, wise, and fun grandparents and have similar expectations for themselves. As we know, our minds have a great deal to say about our bodies. So I plan to sing, dance, and laugh a lot with that new crop of babies.

In the meantime, I exercise every day with the Fitbit clipped to my waist so I know that I have walked at least 6,000 steps every day. I also try to eat wisely—we all know what that means—foregoing instant gratification for long-term weight stability. All this so that I will be up to being a part of their lives, holding them in my arms, then having them sit on my knees, watching their first steps, and perhaps being present when they graduate from kindergarten…

Even as my own mortality is looming closer, I am still in good health. At my age it is said that whatever doesn’t leak, dries out—so I expect some organ to start failing, but, for now, I wake up every morning without pain. It will be interesting to observe my—hopefully—slow decent into obsolescence. I am curious about the process and the various coping skills I will use. Because energy (and I have a lot of it) never dies, I plan to come back and haunt all my friends with various apparitions or strange, unexplainable happenings!

In the meantime, I appreciate every morning that I wake up. I make a point to stop and feel grateful several times during the day. I appreciate the tangerine a friend gave me from his tree, the old blue jeans from years ago that still fit, the friend that called, the breeze on my balcony, and the fact that I can walk, read, and, yes especially, write.

And so, the births, the impending births, and the not-yet impending births make me think about how sweet my life is, how lucky I am, how precious these young lives are and will be. As I think about their unknown futures, I already worry about them. They should not live near any coastlines—which will disappear with the rising oceans; they should not live where there will be droughts due to global warming; they should not live in cities with high pollution… I will not be there to give them advice. They will have to manage their own lives with the help, guidance and support of their parents (my grandchildren) who have greatly benefitted from my wisdom, which I’m sure they will impart to the next generation. This, in fact, is a bit of my immortality. Perhaps they will read one of my poems or maybe even one of my books. Perhaps I will continue to live in the words I have written, for a little while anyway. Perhaps…

© Natasha Josefowitz. This article appeared initially in the La Jolla Village News. You may comment the writer via natasha.josefowitz@sdjewishworld.com. Comments intended for publication in the space below must be accompanied by the letter writer’s first and last name and by his/ her city and state of residence (city and country for those outside the U.S.)