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.

I haven’t touched my email in three days. I haven’t even checked it. And the world hasn’t stopped.  In fact, I’m more in touch with reality than ever.  Just a step outside my bedroom door life abounds.

We built our retirement house for the two of us.  We took into consideration that we wanted to be able to host overnight guests and family visits.  But just two years into full-time occupancy, we have a rapidly expanding family.  So we are a bit space challenged when everyone comes together.  But I can’t imagine farming them out to hotels.  And fortunately, they are all good sports about it.  So far.  I call it “making memories.”

For Thanksgiving weekend we shoehorned 9 family members into the house. Including 2 little people.  On the sleeping scale the little peeps weigh in on the light side, cocooning in narrow crevices on our backpacking sleep mats. Any other way you measure it, they tend to dominate.  Especially on an energy and volume level.  But to me, they are happy messes.  Happy noises.

There is nothing better than being surrounded by family.  Everyone pitching in.  Big family meals.  Piling into a van to go to a movie.  Breakfast around the kitchen island. Laying down Brio train track. Running to the grocery store for yet more milk.  Playing card games late into the evening.  Who cares about email?

I’m a proud mama and happy to see our kids making their way in this big world.  But I still love nothing more than having them come home.  Especially when they all come at once.  No matter that we’re a bit squished.  This is more than a happy houseful.  It’s an overflowing heart full.