There are days that are just pretty amazing.
Last month members of the Klontz clan got together from Ohio, Tennessee, Hawaii, New York and Illinois for an all-too-rare family reunion. It was held in Ohio, where my brother, sister, and I grew up. It was a sticky, hot August day; we had rented the local park’s shelter that was heated (but not air conditioned). We had ordered in chicken, and everyone brought something to make up the trimmings, making sure that no one would go hungry.
Daughter Brenda was among the last to arrive, having driven in from Indianapolis, after spending the night with friends as she and Margie (my bride of 25 years) wound their way down on their two day sojourn from Chicago, bringing the most precious of cargo, granddaughters Morgan (4) and Leah (6 weeks). The granddaughters were there to meet cousins, aunts, and uncles they had never met before.
When Morgan burst through the door, I saw her look around at all the strangers, seemingly a little disoriented, spotted me, and ran the length of the building into my arms, crashing into me without even slowing down, all the while yelling, “Hi Pappy.” Ok, that was enough to make my day, but little did I know that was just the beginning of a very special day.
We had set several long tables up in a square, and when things settled down, Leah, who was being held by Brenda, was across the table. One thing that needs to be established here and now, is that Leah, though in some ways was ready to be born, in other ways wasn’t. One way she wasn’t is that NO ONE, except Mom, gets the privilege of holding her–period. I mean no one. ESPECIALLY someone as marginal as her Pappy. And believe me, even with her eyes closed and sleeping, she knows the difference.
I caught myself just looking at and being caught in the reverie of the miracle of succeeding generations and had the urge to hold Leah. I asked if I could and Brenda said yes, with a look in her eye that seemed to say, “You know what’s going to happen, right?” I did and it didn’t matter.
So, I went to pick her up. We did the necessary, “checking under the hood” to make sure that all the fluid levels were topped off, discovered that we needed to make an oil change, got the outside and inside washed and decided that it was safe to make the trip from Mom to Pappy.
I took her back to where I was sitting, and miracle of miracles, she just lay there on my lap looking at me. No crying, no screaming, just quietly looking at me in what (to me) seemed wonder. This went on for a long time. Well, sometimes 30 seconds is a long time, right? Like when you have held your breath as long as you can and someone says, “Just 30 seconds more.” That’s a long time.
Well, after aforementioned 30 seconds or so, I saw her lower lip start quivering, followed shortly thereafter by her upper lip. I had a sense of what was coming. She was working herself up to a good squall. This knowledge comes from the wisdom of old age. I was absolutely right. Within 2 minutes she had a full head of steam up and everyone knew it.
I looked up at Brenda and as if reading my mind said, “I’m alright with it if you are.” For some reason I was, though I had a hunch that the other people at the table might not be. I had been with Leah before in these moments, and we are talking a girl who is wired for marathon performances. She is not a sprinter.
I thought, “Ok, it is already hot, and her crying is going to make her even hotter, and that’s going to add fuel to the fire of her experience.” I asked my favorite brother-in-law, Doug, if he would go start the rental car for me as I had decided to go sit in the passenger’s seat with the air conditioning on, hold Leah and just see what happened.
To this day I can’t tell you what happened. Well, I can tell you part of what happened. #1, the crying didn’t stop magically. It went on, and on, and on, but I found myself just marveling at her process. I found myself saying “You go girl, develop those lungs”. “Practice having a voice.” “You tell em, Girl”. “Get it all out; don’t leave one yell, one tear in there.” I felt like I was her cheerleader. At other times I tried matching my voice and noises to the noises she was making so that we were singing a duet in B (for bawling) major, all the time, urging her on. Apparently my coaching worked, because she just kept going and going like the energizer bunny.
After a while she seemed to be slowing down. I was under no illusion, however, that it was because she was done. I was fully aware she was tired. As I wiped those little tears from her face, her eyes fluttered and she went to sleep. For a while. Then she startled herself awake and we were off to rejoin the race, with renewed energy, apparently trying to make up for ground lost while she was sleeping.
Back to the cheerleading. Back to sleep. Cheerleading, back to sleep. I held her little hands and that seemed to help her keep from startling herself awake. We went through this cycle for what seemed like three hours.
Finally, it was time to rejoin the others. Leah was awake. She wasn’t crying. As I handed her back to her mom, pit stop service was required (re-fueling, interior clearing, wiping down the windshield, de-odorization, air-drying). In case you had any questions, I don’t do the actual servicing that pit stops require, I just drive the car. I leave that to the experts.
Stepping back from it all I was amazed. I was amazed at what I had just experienced in myself.
I had experienced these special moment of being fully present with my granddaughter. I was able to just be with her, and I wasn’t bothered by what she did. I was just being with her. I simply joined her in her human experience. I am quite sure she will never remember that special afternoon, but I am quite sure I will never forget it.
I remember reading once, “It is impossible to be fully present and unhappy at the same time.” That’s what I experienced.
To be more like that. To have more moments like that. That’s my goal. I am also reminded that my pain is directly related to the amount of resistance I create between what is happening and what I believe “should” be happening. Self-induced pain, or in this case, not.
