Grandma Coolred...how awesome is that?

 Maya Rashid AlJuma March 24, 2013

During my long absence my oldest daughter had the nerve to make me a grandmother without so much as asking me. As I said...what nerve. She was due around March 23 and thus I made it my goal to be with her during one of the most terrifying wondrous moments of her life. I was alone for the birth of all 5 of my babies so I know what it feels like to not have a hand to hold or someone to calm me down...I didn't want her to feel that way even for a moment. 

Of course I told her I wouldn't be able to make it because I simply didn't have the money for such an expensive ticket. She believed me...so gullible.

I got busy on my side, ensuring I had a month off from work (all my coworkers seemed as excited as I was by the prospect of me becoming a gramma...ancient jokes were in abundance) and I waited impatiently for my tax return to show up. It was the only way I could afford to go but it was taking it's damn sweet time and time was running out on me if I was going to make it there before she delivered. 

Now here is the thing. Other than my kids over here...and coworkers of course...I told nobody that I was going to Bahrain...not even my best friend there. The only person I did tell was someone I knew who wouldn't spill the beans..so he could pick me up at the airport. (well that didn't work out as well as I hoped but what to do?)

My daughter constantly made comments about wanting me there and how she was getting so nervous and worried. I told myself if she really did start to freak out I would ensure her I was coming to calm her down...but that point never arrived so all was good. The day I left I constantly texted her and everyone over there all the way across the U.S. until I lost contact in the air. By this time my best friend sort of had a clue of my intentions as I would see in all the texts back and forth later...but she wasn't positive. 

I arrived in Bahrain after a torturous 23 hour flight all together. I was exhausted...and to make matters worse...my expected ride was no where to be found. My phone had discharged at this point so I couldn't even see his number to call him. I still wanted to surprise my daughter but wasn't sure what to do at this point. My plan wasn't working out...grrr.

I ended up waiting about an hour before I decided he wasn't coming (I was the only red head in a sea of dark haired people..he wasn't there or he would have seen me) so I decided to take a taxi to best friends house. Surprise her...then go to daughter's house and let the party begin. 

By the time I got to best friends house it was fairly late..and she wasn't there. I spoke with her housemaid who ensured me she would be coming soon...so I hid in her ladies salon where I could see when she arrived. Unfortunately, her housemaid wasn't very good at keeping secrets and sort of let the cat out of the bag as soon as best friend arrived. So much for surprises...grrr. 

She was surprised, to a point, but had a feeling I was coming over and so expected me as well. By this time it was quite late and since my daughter was late stage pregnancy and didn't need middle of the night surprises...I decided to wait until morning to spring my awesome self on her. I spent the night at best friend's house and anticipated the morning's adventures. 

A little bit of back story at this point. I had told my daughter previously that I bought a lot of baby things for her...but would mail a box to her and hopefully it would arrive on a certain date (my arrival date no less). She was constantly asking me if I had mailed the box and I told her be patient. So the next morning my best friend calls her and tells her SHE had the box..as I had actually mailed it to her...not my daughter. My daughter was sort of miffed at that but was happy just to know it arrived..and told best friend to bring it over. 

When we arrived at daughter's house...best friend knocked on door and indicated that the box was so big a man from the street was carrying it for her to the door. As I sprung around the corner..my daughter was standing there with a very skeptical look on her face at this point...but it immediately dissolved into a pool of tears as soon as she saw me. I quickly realized how relieved she was to have me there..and I was very happy that I had decided to come despite the crazy cost of the ticket. 

After celebrating we got down to the business of waiting for baby to arrive. She still had about a week to incubate so we shopped, and readied baby room and just enjoyed the next few days while baby was still on the inside (always the best place for them). 

During prenatal visits the doctor kept mentioning C-sections and epidurals as choices my daughter  could consider and I was rather irritated by that. Why not promote natural birth first and foremost...why even bring those up unless the need was very apparent? By this point baby was being just a tad stubborn and delayed her arrival by a few days so induction was talked about. My daughter decided March 24th would be the day to get baby moving. We waited for that day to arrive with bated breath and mixed feelings of Fear and Finally it would be over with. 

The morning of the Big Day we arrived at the hospital very early in the morning and daughter was settled in and prepped for an I.V. etc. to begin the process. She was scared but I could also see that she was very relieved to have me there..along with her husband. I might add at this point that her husband is a wonderful man and was there every step of the way with her (as much as he could be). Always attending her prenatal visits...always very interested in what she was going through and doing whatever he could to ensure her comfort and calm state of mind. They chose a private hospital that would allow him to be with her during the whole birth process as well and he was with her every moment. I like him a lot. 

When her doctor arrived...she still brought up a possible C-section and epidural..even though my daughter was doing fine up to this point. Yes she was experiencing pain but she was handling it well..so what the hell? I talked with my daughter and advised her to do what she thought was best but that natural birth was the best choice unless something warranted such actions. She seemed intent on doing it the natural way...which didn't seem to please her doctor for some reason.

My best friend arrived at some point and we all spent the morning listening to the fetal monitor, getting my daughter whatever she needed..and counting the minutes down. She was very slow in dilating, was experiencing more and more contraction pain, but was doing OK. Once again the doctor came in and advised her to consider a C-section or epidural. Her comment was that she didn't think my daughter could handle the pain...which was odd considering that's exactly what she was doing up until this point. My daughter told her...I'm fine right now. Give me a chance to do it this way. 

Shortly before noon, as we were all gathered around, my daughter (while suffering through more intense contractions at this point) suddenly demanded we get the nurse. It seemed the urge to push had just arrived. The nurse came and did a pelvic check and was surprised to learn that my daughter had went from barely 2 cm over several hours to 7 cm in no time flat. Suddenly things got serious and nurses came in preparing to take her to the delivery room. 

Best friend and I waited just outside the delivery room for awhile...alternating between crying and excitement...waiting impatiently for good news. Her doctor came out at one point and said we could go in if we wanted. Wow...that was awesome. I didn't think I would be able to be with her..just near her...at that point. We put on gowns and hurried into the room. 

Daughter was concentrating on her moment in the limelight...SIL was holding her hand and doing his part to keep her calm...and the nurses were running around like those last few minutes before the curtain was drawn and the show began was at hand. 

Best friend and I elected to stand just behind the curtain since it was close enough to offer support but not in the way of all the activity. We shouted encouragement to her every step of the way..until we eventually heard what we had all been waiting anxiously for 9 months to hear...the indignant cries of a new life brought into the world. 

We were all crying, excited, and overwhelmed...but not too overwhelmed that we didn't record the moment when new baby Maya was brought over to the table for her first check up. It's an awesome video that I would have loved to have with any one of my own children. Oh well..sign of how things are changing in Bahrain from the 80's. For the better in some regards. 

At some point my daughter looked at her doctor and told her...see, I did it without drugs or anything. I proved you wrong. That's my girl. Don't let the doctors bully you into unneeded procedures unless it's absolutely necessary. Everything and everyone came through with flying colors. 

And  I was a new grandma. Grandma Coolred. How awesome is that?

I spent the next two weeks helping daughter with whatever she needed but she assured me that she had a perfect example on motherhood due to her own mother. She had this. Very cool. A million pictures and a hundred videos later...I was sad to see my day of departure arrive. I had to say goodbye to my two kids, my new granddaughter, SIL, and best friend that I love so much. It was the first time I had ever found it hard to leave Bahrain. Imagine that. All it took was a new little baby to make that happen...well not just that...but more on that later. 

So little Maya is well over a month old now...thriving and keeping her parents on their toes. I get lots of daily pics and videos still and share them with everyone who doesn't run away at this point. My daughter is planning a trip here so her siblings can see their new niece and her husband can visit the states for the first time. I can't wait to see them. 

I will make an effort to be in Maya's life because my own children did not have that sort of connection with their own grandmother (thought hind sight tells me they didn't miss out on much but at the time it was very hurtful to me)...plus I have so many things to teach this precious little girl. Sarcasm and a sharp tongue being top of the list...as self defense against the Stupids of the world.

 It's the least I can do. 

 

Grandparents...hot and cold. pt 2

The relationship I had with my grandfather was something else all together when compared with the one I had (or didnt have) with my grandmother. He and I were pals and we got along great.

As I mentioned in the last post you could usually find him sitting on the porch in his broken down chair drinking beer and telling stories of his life...usually his younger years. I was never able to learn whether he was telling the truth or just wishful thinking...but I loved his stories anyhow. They were colorful (language as well as use of adjectives) and I never got tired of hearing them.

Because my grandad was an alcoholic most of his life there are only a few occasions when I can remember going anywhere with him. My mother was very careful about that and made absolutely sure he hadnt been drinking before allowing me to go off with him. We'd get into his late model car, roll down the windows and head off down the road...generally keeping traffic backed up for miles as he never seemed to go much faster than 30 mph and for some reason never remembered to turn off the turn indicator. We'd have cars horning behind us in impatient outrage and he'd seemingly be completely oblivious to the road rage he was instigating behind him. While people were anxious to horn in frustration I dont personally remember anyone actually taking him on or gunning the engine and making a dangerous move to get around him...as they are so quick to do these days. We always had a good time together and I do sorely miss them.

I spent quite a lot of our vacation time on the porch with my grandpa...in his garden (while still able to get around he loved his garden) or just shuffling down the road going nowhere in particular....and always talking. When he'd been drinking more than usual I never really understood the things that might come out of his mouth...but now when I think about it I realize he was just as bitter and angry as my grandmother about his "wasted" life and failure to make something of it....but that anger only seemed to come out with the helping hand of alcoholic lubrication. I didnt see it often when I was with him.

Gramps loved to go fishing and we loved going fishing with him. Oklahoma has some pretty fishing holes and plenty of wildlife to look at while your busy not catching anything. I remember once sitting on a small out crop of rocks and was surprised and scared silly to see a cottonmouth snake come slithering out into the water. We all knew the dangers of snakes in that area and this was a bad one as far as snakes go...so imagine my amazement to see gramps calmly stride over, grab the thing matter of factly and hurl it off across the water...then calmly walk back to his fishing. Most people dont believe me when I tell that story but all I can do is tell it the way I saw it...believe it or not. Mom said he was probably drunk and didnt know what he was doing, didnt realize the dangers, but I dont recall seeing gramps drinking that day as he usually didnt when out with us...only at home while sitting on the porch for the most part. I prefer to think of him as my non-drunk hero...sigh.

One thing that stands out more clear than anything else in my childhood was grampas choice of clothing. As you can see from the pic he nearly always wore overalls...I can hardly remember a day that he didnt have them on. He'd get holes in them and demand my grandmother mend them...it was one thing he seemed adamant about her doing despite her protests. He wanted his overalls mended and that was that. She usually did it...complaining the whole time.

Ive loved writing stories my whole life...started when I was old enough to know I could...and I wrote a story about gramps and his overalls while in my senior year of school writing class. I got an A on that paper and my teacher read it out loud to the class...something she hadnt done with other stories up to that point. In my high school year book she signed it saying..."I will always remember your Old Overalls"...which was the name of the story.

As I mentioned in the last post...the last time I seen gramps he was nearly in tears about us leaving early due to grammas constant complaints about everything....mostly me. He tried to talk mom into staying...followed us out into the driveway promising everything would be fine...to ignore her cause she was "crazy" and not let the vacation be ruined cause of it. Mom wasnt listening in her intent to get away. She had had enough and we were gone with barely a hug and whispers of goodbye. I still remember gramps scratchy beard and extra hard hug...promising to see me next time.

I never seen gramps again. I left home and went into the military a few months later...then came to Bahrain. He died the first year I was here and of course I couldnt go to his funeral. When my mother called me and told me gramps had passed it was a feeling like no other. I already felt lonely and isolated here in Bahrain. I felt cut off from the family and all that was going on with them...and cause gramps and I had been so close...I was especially hard hit to have to suffer this grief alone.

A few weeks later I received a package from my mom. Inside was a cassette tape with grampa's funeral written on it. I listened to the tape and was completely overcome with emotion to realize mom had taped pertinent parts of the funeral for me. Gramps favorite song was playing in the back ground. People stood up and said their piece about him....and then something familiar came on...something that I had no idea had even made the trip to OK much less to gramps funeral. My cousin Diane was reading my story...the one I had written about gramps and his old overalls. She started out well enough but before too long she could barely get the words out...and I could hear everyone in the room crying or commenting in some way.

I was completely gutted...

My mom knew I was upset about his death and that I couldnt be there...so she had made sure I was there at least in some fashion....and it was the absolute right thing to do...I was both eternally grateful and overcome with emotion...both incredibly sad and insanely happy at the same time. That cassette was one of my most prized possessions for years...until in a fit of rage my (ex)husband shattered it and threw it away...calling it morbid to listen to a funeral again and again. Why do some people have absolutely no compunction to hurt in this way for no reason what so ever?

I find it strange that my gramps died back in 1988 and so had been gone for many years...but up until I was able to visit OK 6 years ago (before grammas death) knowing he was gone and believing it were two different things. Until I was able to visit his graveside and see his name written on a headstone was I able to finally believe in my heart that he was gone. It was a peaceful day for me somehow.

When my grandmother passed away after suffering a year and a half with Alzheimer's in which my mother cared for her up until her passing...I can honestly say that I didnt feel sad...I wasnt upset...it really meant nothing to me. I feel like an ogre for saying that but its the truth. I was very sad for my mother for losing HER mother...but for me it had no affect. This upset my mother to some degree...she WAS my grandmother after all...but we cannot manufacture grief if it isnt there...and it wasnt there for me.

Incidentally mom says that the last year of grammas life in which she suffered through the destructive deterioration of Alzheimer's gave her an insight into what her mother might have been like if life hadnt kicked her down so hard and made her an angry bitter woman. All though I never seen her myself Mom tells me that gramma died a sweet compliant woman that never complained or got upset with anything. Obviously it was the disease that had made her forget her life and her reasons for the anger etc...but my Mother was very happy that she had got to see what she hopes was her "real" mother. Im glad she was able to see that for her own peace of mind.

I miss my gramps and wish I had that funeral tape still...but I do have my memories...and those will do me just fine.

Grandparents...hot and cold.

* a rare pic of my grandparents together

As a lot of people who read this blog might know...I grew up with a crazy father who kept us fairly isolated from people specifically and the world in general as much as he could. Most of the places we lived when I was young were either very small towns or isolated areas in which there were few neighbors. It was rare for people to come visit us...and rarer still for us to go visit them...or to spend the night with friends etc. Most of our friends were too scared to even come to our house for the most part...so we didnt do a lot of asking for slumber parties any how...but it would have been nice to have those sorts of memories.


My Mothers family never came to see us for the most part during my childhood...any visiting that was done was by us going to see them. It didnt happen a lot but enough so that us kids knew our grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. (they all lived in pretty much the same area in OK) When we went down to visit we usually stayed with my grandparents...and counted the days until we were ran out of the house and headed back home. It went something like this....

My grandmother was about the most anti social person Ive ever personally known in my life. She suffered a lot in her life so I figure that had a lot to do with it...but I also assume she had personal issues and personality hangups that made her who she was....a person that rarely smiled...never laughed...and had nothing good to say about anything. All my childhood all I can remember from her was a constant babble of complaints about everything and anything under the sun. Whenever we came to visit my mother braced herself for a constant onslaught of finger pointing and nagging from sun up to sun down...and late into the night. Grandma never seemed to run out of things to complain about...and didnt sleep much either...sigh.


Grandpa, on the other hand, dealt with life (and maybe his wife) by drinking...a lot. While she sat at the kitchen table (I rarely saw her anywhere else in her house other than the bedroom for sleeping...and she only went in there when she wanted to sleep) he would sit outside on the porch in his broken down chair sipping on beer and ignoring the complaints that were constantly being thrown out the screen door at him. They very rarely spent time in the same room together other than when passing through...and I never heard a single word between them that could in any way be considered civil...Mom says its because of the hard life they spent together and the era they grew up in. They were like enemies that couldnt live together...but wouldnt even think of living life apart.


Now I had two very different relationships with these two people. Like night and day...or hot and cold depending on how you look at it. As I sit here and think about the both of them (both have since passed on) I only have negative memories with my grandmother and only positive memories of my grandfather. Its possible because I was a child my memories are somewhat distorted but I will explain and you tell me...what was going on with those two?


As I mentioned, my grandmother was a bitter and angry woman...this was her personality and she pretty much treated everyone to a tongue lashing if they dared come too close. Most of the family had learned that a quick visit was just about all that could be had if you didnt want to get dragged into a tirade that lasted hours. Whenever we stayed there for more than a day...Mom would make frequent "trips to the store" just to give herself (and us) a chance to regroup and calm down. I was usually the first one in the car when she suggested we needed something...I couldnt get away fast enough. You see, my grandmother hated me...we all knew this...including my Mother...but none of us knew why.


Picture this. My grandmother rarely showed affection to anyone...even her own children...so a hug from her or even her reaching out and touching someone on purpose was just something so rare that it caused heads to turn and eyebrows to raise when it happened....and something remembered for a very long time. Growing up my older sister Tammy was favored by grandma, which was ironic considering Tammys rebellious streak and penchant for trouble making. I can remember on several occasions when gramma would call her over and pull her onto her lap...for just a few seconds but thats all it took...that contact was a signal that Tammy was about to get a treat (money, a trinket of grammas etc) and Tammy knew it..and soaked it up. Throwing me a look of such superiority that ordinarily I would be jealous...but I wasnt...I knew how she felt about me and knew I would never be asked to sit on her lap. I didnt miss it.


Years later after Tammy was gone little sis took over her spot and could be seen sitting on grammas lap now and then...and receiving some token or bit of money. In all my life I do not recall gramma ever touching me...nor do I remember her ever saying my name. She completely ignored my presence in her house for the most part....except for three occasions that stand out in my mind.


One time I was very bored...there is nothing much to do in a house in which two old people live...and this neighborhood had no children in it...and so I was searching for something to do. Grammas living room (a room she NEVER spent time in except to dust once a week) was like blast from the past. Every bit of furniture and collection of knick knacks in that room remained in exactly the same position for as long as I could remember. Nothing ever changed...nothing was ever thrown out or moved. The same furniture...the same books on the shelf...the same picture of JFK was on the wall for as long as I could remember. Nobody ever really sat in there except to watch TV...and she didnt like the TV to be on all that much so it was off most of the time as well. You learned quick when being in grammas house not to touch things...move things...or even show interest in things...she had her eye on every last object in her house and took inventory often.


Out of extreme boredom and in an act of desperation (mom had gone out with my aunt for several hours...I was alone with gramma that day) I entered the sitting room and pulled a book from her shelf. It was a very old copy of Tom Sawyer. I sat in a chair and read the whole thing in about 2 hours (I have always been a quick reader). When I finished I placed the book back on the shelf and went about my day. Unknown to me gramma had quickly noticed me entering the sitting room and had been complaining the whole time (most of her complaining was done as if she were talking to herself...not necessarily directed at anyone...but loud enough so we knew she was hot about something). As soon as my mother arrived she was hit with an onslaught of accusations that I had "tore up" the sitting room...I had "gotten into everything"...and I had probably "damaged" her book. Mom defended me telling gramma that I was very respectful and wouldnt hurt anything etc...but later on she kicked my butt telling me I knew better than to antagonize gramma over her things. Its just the way things were...sigh. I never touched anything in grammas house again if I could help it.


Another time Mom, gramma, grandpa and I went somewhere (a very rare occasion for them to both be in the same car as I recall) and I sat in the backseat with grandpa. When we arrived I chose to stay outside in the car with grandpa rather than go inside the house and visit some "old lady" who was sick. The entire time they were in the house...gramma stood near the door and kept her eye on the both of us outside (I didnt realize this at the time of course)...and on the way home she complained loud and long about me (in an indirect fashion)...wondering why I preferred sitting in the car with HIM...what did I do while sitting there...how could mom just let me sit there...it went on and on until we reached home. Her complaining from one side...mom and grandpa telling her to shut up from the other...I never said a word because I didnt understand why she was so mad at me. I hadnt done anything but sit in the car and talk with grandpa to pass the time...sigh.


The last incident was actually the last time I visited my grandparents home as a teen. I had been suffering an incredibly bad headache for much of the day. I had gone to Mom asking if she had any Tylenol...she told me to go ask gramma as she had a bottle somewhere. Of course I didnt. I couldnt bring myself to ask her for anything...I could barely bring myself to speak to her since she had spent my entire life either ignoring me or complaining about me. I suffered a few more hours hoping it would go on its own. It didnt.


I went back to mom, who at this point was in a very bad mood (I dont recall what was going on but do remember she was very mad about something)...and when I asked her she exploded at me to just "go and ask YOUR GRAMMA"...so I went...with a heavy heart and trepidation. Of course it didnt go well. I do believe it was the first time in my life that I directed a request to her...asked her for something...wanted something from her...she didnt take it well. From the moment I asked for some Tylenol she went on a rant about how I was "using up her medication" and she would be "left with nothing and she was an old woman" and how I was "inconsiderate to take her medication when I could get my own"...and similar complaints.


I slunk away to a dark room and laid down hoping the headache would go away with some rest. It didnt. Mom found me an hour later in tears, grabbing my head and unable to open my eyes the pain was so severe. She asked me if I had taken any pain pills. I hesitated...then told her gramma had not given me any.


All Hell broke loose that day. Before an hour had passed our bags were packed and we were headed back home....but not before mom had let gramma have it about making me suffer rather than give me 2 little Tylenol...gramma went on her rant and they went round and round until we were slamming doors and headed down the driveway. I didnt see gramma again until 6 years ago while visiting my family in Texas (she and my older sis passed away a year later within weeks of each other...a double blow for my mother)...I never seen my grandpa again. He passed away the first year I was in Bahrain. The last image of my grandpa was him standing in the driveway with tears in his eyes waving goodbye...because he felt as if this would be our last visit for awhile considering gramma had done her best to run us off for good this time. 2 years later I was in Bahrain and he passed away.

*to be continued. I will talk about my grandpa and our relationship.