New life.  It’s all consuming and the rest of the world seems to fade away.  From the moment we got the phone call that our newest grandchild was on her way into the world, it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

Never mind that it wasn’t me having the baby this time.  It didn’t matter that my only responsibilities were to cuddle and admire.  Once in that hospital room nothing else mattered. I couldn’t tell you what day it was, how much time had passed or what I had originally planned to do that day.  Everything outside that space was immaterial.

Even with two grandchildren already, I had forgotten how engaging those little people are.  Isabel managed to captivate me with the way she scrunched up her little face and the barely audible squeaky noises she made.

It was difficult, but I did share this little bundle.  And it’s pretty obvious that she kept us all quite entertained.  I will shamelessly include some of my favorite photos.

Welcome to the family, Isabel.  You’re quite a showstopper.

It’s been almost four years since my mom died.  And still the large boxes full of her photo albums lay untouched, squirreled away in our storage area.  It seemed such a massive task to go through them all and decide what to keep.  But finally this week I took the plunge.

Opening the first box I reached in and pulled out the top album.  Before long, I was drawn into the pages, reliving memories as I perused each photo.  I feared that I would end up in the attic forever, pondering every last picture and feeling reluctant to let any of them go.  But in time I developed a process.  Soon I was surrounded by piles of photos, pulling them out of albums and picturing the delight of family and friends who would soon receive them in the mail.  Most were just fun photos, designed to solicit a smile or even better a good laugh at the memory of happy times past.

I was right to expect that it would be a big job.  But it turned out to be far more enjoyable and entertaining than I thought.  And I was left with some surprising takeaways.  Many of the albums were from the later years, after Dad died and Mom was on her own.  It was heartwarming to see just how prominently my family figured into Mom’s collection of photos.  There she was at all our kids’ major events.  She never missed a play, a concert, a graduation or any special occasion despite the miles between us.  And we made plenty of trips to visit her in Duluth.

But this particular photo spoke to me more than any of the others.  I haven’t a clue what the game was.  It must have been invented by Karen, at about age three.  And Mom was right there in the thick of it.  Perfectly willing to lay on the floor, obviously enjoying the moment immensely.  It’s what Mom did best as a Grandma.  She got down and played with the kids.  She always had time for them.  And they held a special place in her heart.

I’m now a Grammy, with two and a soon-to-be third grandchild to treasure.  Little did I realize that within Mom’s photo albums lay a wonderful lesson.  I now know that I have the perfect role model for this special relationship.  And I’m taking the “play” message to heart.

Losing a parent is never easy.  It means accepting that the constants in our lives – the parents who have always been there for us – are vulnerable and human.

Burying the first parent leaves an imbalance.  The pair becomes one, and the sense of loneliness and loss is palpable.  In many ways, it strengthens the parent-child bond.  The parent who never handled finances before now needs help.  The parent who never cooked in his life really enjoys sharing a home cooked meal.  They come to depend on us just as we once relied on them for life’s basic necessities and the bonds of love.

As long as one of them was still alive, we could still visit the family home.  We could still keep alive some of the traditions they established, even if they no longer understood or were aware of the meaning.  But still we carried on for them.

When the second parent slips away, the tie is severed completely.  It feels like a layer of childhood has just been peeled away, exposing the raw exterior of adulthood.  For those of us who have been the “sandwich generation” we just lost one piece of bread.  Life will never be the same.

My dad died almost 21 years ago.  Mom was lost to us through Alzheimer’s years before her final exit, which was over three years ago now.  Closing out her estate made it all so final.

But Rich’s father was still alive.  We continued to have a link to the generation above us.  As recently as this past Christmas we made sure to be with him for the holiday, delivering his favorite julekake for breakfast.  A tradition that goes way, way back and he passed on to us.

His recent death brought that to an end.  No longer do we have any parents on this earth.  Two of them lived long enough to become great-grandparents.  We had a good long string of generations going.  We were very fortunate.  We spanned close to a century.  Suddenly, that range is a lot narrower.

It’s still to soon to comprehend.  Life’s balance has shifted.  But I don’t feel it yet.  I’m still contemplating the passing of a generation.

I  missed my run yesterday.  I knew it would happen, and it was a conscious decision.  That’s not a trivial affair for this exercise addict.  But it was oh, so worth it.

In actual fact, I still did plenty of running.  But it was in the confines of my daughter’s basement, chasing two toddlers.  I may not have clocked many miles, but the tally for giggles and hugs was sky high.

Ben and the crow in the playhouse

Right off the bat we found a stash of puppets.  These weren’t your run of the mill puppets, they were Shari Lewis style gems.  As we resurrected Lamb Chop, Hush Puppy, Charlie Horse and the black crow, the memories came flooding back.  How I loved those TV shows and Shari’s marvelous ventriloquism.  The puppets joined our play for most of the morning and shared the cardboard playhouse with us.  Its no-frills simplicity made for a perfect hide-out for the three of us and our puppet pals.

In fact, that led to our next adventure – Hide and Seek.  There were endless places to sneak around among the boxes and storage bins in the basement.  But admittedly, the playhouse was a favorite hiding spot.  Funny how it took me so long to catch on.  I loved searching high a low for those two little munchkins, bypassing them intentionally to drag out the hunt.  But I got an even bigger kick out of it when they did the same!  Kids catch on so fast.

Ben’s picture of Grammy, Mya and the puppets

I tried to capture the moments with my little camera.  Catching the joy on their little faces or the mischievous glint in their eyes was next to impossible.  But the camera served an even better purpose.  I had let Ben take some pictures with it at Christmas time, and we all had a good laugh out of seeing the world from his point of view – looking up at everything.  So when my camera emerged again, he insisted on another turn.  And like before, he took some very credible shots.  I like them even better than my own.  Mya’s turn produced a lot of fuzz and blur, but a Grammy can’t be partial when granting favors.

Play.  It’s all we did for a whole morning.  It’s truly the luxury of being a Grammy.  I don’t recall ever abandoning my long To Do List to just let down and play with my own kids.  At least not for hours on end.  And yet, it seems to come naturally the second time around.

I really didn’t miss that run.  I had better things to do.  I got to play.