My husband died in 2010 and for the next six years I immersed myself in my job as a school superintendent. I spent two Christmases at my son’s house and loved being with my grandsons. Retirement and a move to their town started looking very attractive.
Signs that this transition might be a challenge popped up one Thanksgiving a few years before I moved, when we all gathered at my sister’s house for Thanksgiving. I joined my son for breakfast at their hotel the day they were leaving. I brought up Christmas and assumed I would be joining them again. He studied the menu and then scrolled through his phone, not looking at me. Still scrolling he casually announced, “We don’t want you to come on Christmas this year. Why don’t you come after Christmas.” I sat there, mute for a few minutes, then I got up and left the hotel in tears. The atmosphere was tense when we said our goodbyes at my sister’s house several hours later. Never one for outright conflict, I tucked this memory deep in my brain’s filing cabinet.
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A recent blog on retirement statistics announced: “On average, 10,000 baby boomers reach the average retirement age every day.” In 2016 I was one of the 10,000, retired, widowed, and living in a new town, where my son and his family also lived. I have often wondered if this move was a good idea. I justified it to myself as a favor to my only child. When I get older and need assistance in daily life, I won’t be a day’s drive away. It may be more honest to say I was lonely without my job and without a family.
Navigating this new life has been a challenge. The big stuff happened, as it usually does, in relationships.
My son was in high school the last time we lived in such close proximity. Two- or three-day visits and sporadic phone calls have been the norm since those days. That fact did nothing to quell my expectations that we would spend the rest of my days in a loving, close relationship.
One evening a few weeks before I moved, my son and his family had dinner with me at a local restaurant a block from their house. The place is a beloved Greek eatery with a deck, umbrellas, and picnic tables. I chose a spot facing my daughter-in-law who looked as lovely as she always does. I thought: “This is what I’ve been waiting for…a family dinner in a favorite spot…” My mind took off, imagining Sunday dinners at my house……my son stopping by after work for a drink…babysitting my grandsons. Heaven!
My son got up to greet friends and acquaintances in the restaurant and my daughter-in-law focused on helping the boys decide what they wanted to eat. Her long blond hair draped over her shoulders, onto her fashionable black maxi length dress. She began to tell me about the news from her large extended family in the Delta of Mississippi, not far from Oxford. Several sorority friends from college stopped by to say hello and they all talked over each other excitedly.
“Don’t you look the cutest”. “I love your hair that way”. “How’s your grandmother, she’s so funny!!” Her infectious laugh drew smiles from nearby tables, and she was the center of attention at ours.
My son, who had been quiet during our meal, gathered up the boys after dinner and they started home. My daughter-in-law and I lingered to drink our wine and chat. The buzz around us got louder as the deck filled up with diners.
“…..worried about you moving here….. doesn’t know what to expect”. Those words found their way through the noise.
“ Who?”
“R—”
“Why?” My stomach tightened.
“What’s he think I’m gonna do? I’m not gonna butt into your lives!”
We stopped to pour more wine…She continued to tell me what she apparently thought I needed to hear.
“We’ve got our own traditions and routines, Ruth. And you need to make your own.” I thought, “you are one tough cookie” and I grudgingly tipped my imaginary hat. I said, “I am glad you are being honest. Part of the tension last year around Christmas happened because R___ was given the job of telling me I wasn’t welcome on Christmas Day. It might be better if you and I talked.” I mimicked the blunt way he had blurted out the news.
“Oh, I didn’t know that”. Heightened emotion and the wine tinted her porcelain cheeks. I ruefully noted to myself “She would be quite a formidable opponent if I chose the competition path.”
As we walked back to their house, she unexpectedly remarked,” I feel so much better”. I realized it had not been easy for her to tackle the boundary issue with her mother-in-law. I had plopped myself into their pond and the ripples seemed threatening.
I had bought a house, moved my furniture, and there was no going back now. Somehow, I needed to build a new life and accept that it would not look like a Norman Rockwell painting.
A prayer written by Reinhold Niebuhr, the great theologian, eventually became the famous serenity prayer, a staple of all the 12-step programs. It became mine.
“God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”
This became my daily and sometimes moment-by-moment prayer over the next seven years.
My son was chairman of the school board during the COVID mask controversies. He rebuffed any advice I had as a former school superintendent. Serenity prayer.
The mythical Sunday dinners that took enormous effort by an inadequate cook (me) lasted 45 minutes because everyone was busy. I gave away the dining room table and created a study nook for myself. I took them out to eat when it was convenient for everyone. Serenity prayer.
My grandsons, 7 and 9 when I moved, enjoyed coming to my upstairs floor full of their video games, board games, and order out menus. It dawned on their parents that this was a safe place for the kids to be and it afforded them some free time. Serenity prayer.
I deliberately found volunteer activities that used my skills and enthusiasm, involved myself in community organization that focused on building better government, and made many friends along the way. I took control over what I could do and let go of what I could not make happen. Serenity prayer.
I ask my son to lunch one or two times a month and he has started suggesting it himself sometimes. That is the only time I am with him by myself, and it has taken seven years for those conversations to become more personal. He is married to a strong woman, has a law practice, is maneuvering the teenage years of two boys, and I am not his top priority. Serenity prayer.
And then one day, during a family trip to Ireland, my daughter-in-law sought me out to talk about a personal issue that was troubling her. Somewhere in the time we spent together that day, I heard: “I love you” and “I trust you”. Serenity prayer.
***
Wondering what to read next?
This is not your typical divorce memoir.
Elizabeth Crane’s marriage is ending after fifteen years. While the marriage wasn’t perfect, her husband’s announcement that it is over leaves her reeling, and this gem of a book is the result. Written with fierce grace, her book tells the story of the marriage, the beginning and the end, and gives the reader a glimpse into what comes next for Crane.
“Reading about another person’s pain should not be this enjoyable, but Crane’s writing, full of wit and charm, makes it so.”
—Kirkus (starred review)
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1 Comment
“Crossing the Threshold” touches the vulnerability of creating a new life for ourselves as our own lives and selves are transformed by life. The dialogue here does so much work in revealing the narrator, the other characters, and drawing the reader into their interiors as we take in the external behavior. Yes, The Serenity Prayer can be the bridge we cross over on. Thank you for this gift.