Lasso the moon

We are actually in control of very little.  Life reminds of us that everyday, buddy.  I watch Liza at two, failing once again to make it to the potty; her ankles shackled by her pants that she pulls down before heading for the bathroom. The squeal of frustration tells all and a wad of wet pants fly out the door.  I can relate. Dang.  Because there’s aging… with hair in places previously unpopulated, the relentless pull of gravity, effects of sun exposure from way back when you were oiled up at sixteen, and then stories that seem to pop out involuntarily in social situations about bodily functions, organs we never knew existed and all the ways that people die. And, shhh, but we have our own versions of potty emergencies, too. Yet, we remain optimistic. We practice letting go with one hand while sketching out plans with the other.

Somehow we still hope that your dad finds a nice young woman who wants to raise a family and can uncover those things that make your daddy adorable and a good long term mate.  We met someone and wondered early on if maybe she was the one.  And hoped that over the next year or so we’d know better because she’d invite you and Liza overnight and after awhile and she and daddy would get to know how to care for you and we’d be the grandparents again sometime next year. I know, I know… but we are desperate for possibility.  And we really enjoy watching for signs as they lean over the table eating ice cream or clean up the dishes and give you guys your baths.  After your mommy and daddy split up, we helped daddy learn about you, watch us parent you and talk about our ideas to support you and your developing selves.  We interpreted your world for him. We helped him with rent, with food, job ideas.  Because he made some smart decisions.  He seemed to be taking care of himself a bit. A hernia operation, for example, included a vasectomy.  (That is a tiny surgery that stops daddy from making more babies) We want him healthy and smarter for you.  Available. Grandpa and I are such good thinkers, aren’t we? I guess we think so.

Real life trumps all plans.  Our children are their own people.  And adult children more so. We can only hope what we offered, lived and re-lived in their presence and on their behalf colors their perceptions if not guides some aspect of their lives. Influencing one decision, just one time, maybe.  Knowing we have little to no control but loads of expectation.  Are we nuts?

Yes. That woman he met… is pregnant. The vasectomy was not performed during the hernia. It got us to keep helping and offering  good will. And once again we are in a major pickle with your dad.  Furious at him, but standing in front of me is Beaming girlfriend, mature, capable and full of hope. She is  eager to finally have a baby after several miscarriages.  (Seriously, please gift us a miscarriage, let it happen again) She has made it to eight or nine weeks. Its all planned out, she assures.  They will live together to save money in June and when Daddy’s lease is up, find a larger home and raise all three of you.  Please be happy for us, she looks at me, confused at my looking at her that way, sour-face becoming pissed. I told daddy, please leave. We’ll talk later.

Lessons, lessons, lessons, buddy.  The moon was as close as it gets last night.  I stood at stared into the glowing orb several times last night and then one last time early this morning and watched it slip behind the trees.  You missed it.

We knew this day was coming.  And it did. He didn’t have a vasectomy, didn’t we consider that a possibility? But what could we have done?  Now we can cut him off.  How rude that sounds.  But we have to. And we did. We have control of our own actions.  We do.  But not every time and not everyone does.  I can’t lasso the big glowing moon for you, but I will try. gma

2 thoughts on “Lasso the moon

  1. I’m sitting here quivering with rage and fury and disappointment and worry and anxiety and all the other bad feelings I’m capable of feeling…
    Oh Nancy! I have nothing helpful to offer but my indignation and anger…neither of which helps at all.
    Damn, damn, damn, damn

  2. Oh Sweet Gramma…what the fuck? You write so beautifully about something so beyond belief. It so often gets worse when it seems there is no possibility it could be any worse. I am so, so sorry. I know the goodness that exists in Nico and some of the challenges of being Nico, but somewhere there has to be the capacity to feel the pain and chaos he is causing.
    I am at a loss to know what to offer, angry over the lack of control and I just love you and am amazed by who you are. You deserve so much better.

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