I am in Denver this week, staying with my oldest son and his fiancé, a beautiful girl who has a daughter named Alyssa who is four years old today.
Pretty as a little doll with long blonde hair, she is polite and self assured for such a young age. I was amazed at her sense of confidence and intelligence, talking to me and telling me about her cats. She is sitting on my lap as I write this column, referring to me as her “New York Nana” and how
glad she is to see me.
Also visiting this week is my son’s father, my first husband and high school sweetheart. We laughed as we all had dinner at our son’s restaurant, and spent some time catching up and talking about high school, and what we’ve been doing the last 30 years. Who needed a class reunion, when he could tell me everything I wanted to know about who did what and where they were?
It was a relaxing and fun time, and I sat next to him as our son snapped a picture of us together. I realized that he never had a picture of his parents standing in one place at the same time, for the marriage was over before it begun. We were divorced by the time he was six months old, each of us marrying other spouses who loved him and called him their own. I am sure the wedding photographs will be one for the books.
Walking to the car after a great dinner, my son and his fiancé, my new grand daughter, and my first husband with his girlfriend (“..this ones a keeper!” He laughed) we stopped to look at each other for just a moment. I could tell by his face he wanted to say something, and I nodded in agreement.
“I wouldn’t have changed a thing” I said simply.
"What was meant to be, was meant to be” and he gave me a big hug.
Bitterness is an unwelcome visitor who doesn’t stay at my house very long.
“Let’s go, New York Nana!” chirped the little voice behind me. “Time to go home.”
We smiled as we each went to our cars, remembering the freshness and innocence of youth, the excitement of young love, and the realization that we had forgiven each other many times over. We will spend the rest of our days as friends.
Perhaps one day we will sit in a restaurant and talk about our granddaughter who is getting married, snapping a picture of us and boasting about her grandparents, as well as Grandpa Steve. The past is always remembered with fondness and hard times fade away like voices on the wind. Everything is how it should be. For that I am thankful.
Pretty as a little doll with long blonde hair, she is polite and self assured for such a young age. I was amazed at her sense of confidence and intelligence, talking to me and telling me about her cats. She is sitting on my lap as I write this column, referring to me as her “New York Nana” and how
glad she is to see me.
Also visiting this week is my son’s father, my first husband and high school sweetheart. We laughed as we all had dinner at our son’s restaurant, and spent some time catching up and talking about high school, and what we’ve been doing the last 30 years. Who needed a class reunion, when he could tell me everything I wanted to know about who did what and where they were?
It was a relaxing and fun time, and I sat next to him as our son snapped a picture of us together. I realized that he never had a picture of his parents standing in one place at the same time, for the marriage was over before it begun. We were divorced by the time he was six months old, each of us marrying other spouses who loved him and called him their own. I am sure the wedding photographs will be one for the books.
Walking to the car after a great dinner, my son and his fiancé, my new grand daughter, and my first husband with his girlfriend (“..this ones a keeper!” He laughed) we stopped to look at each other for just a moment. I could tell by his face he wanted to say something, and I nodded in agreement.
“I wouldn’t have changed a thing” I said simply.
"What was meant to be, was meant to be” and he gave me a big hug.
Bitterness is an unwelcome visitor who doesn’t stay at my house very long.
“Let’s go, New York Nana!” chirped the little voice behind me. “Time to go home.”
We smiled as we each went to our cars, remembering the freshness and innocence of youth, the excitement of young love, and the realization that we had forgiven each other many times over. We will spend the rest of our days as friends.
Perhaps one day we will sit in a restaurant and talk about our granddaughter who is getting married, snapping a picture of us and boasting about her grandparents, as well as Grandpa Steve. The past is always remembered with fondness and hard times fade away like voices on the wind. Everything is how it should be. For that I am thankful.
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