My Grandfather, whom I admire and adore to no end, recently underwent a total hip replacement and My husband and I were blessed with the opportunity to travel, childless (thanks to the gracious help of my endearing in laws), to welcome him back home and help settle him and my fabulous grandmother back into their daily lives and assist however possible around the house for the two days we were there.
I have been so busy having children and my husband has been so busy trying to provide for us and pay the medical bills that came along with having the children, compounded by my grandparents undergoing various surgeries and recoveries and not being up to the bombardment of my rambunctious toddler,infant, preschool laden family, that the last time I was able to make it up to my grandparents lake house was when I was pregnant with Princess Coconut over 5 years ago.
I hadn't ever imagined how shaken I would be walking into that lake house, that looked exactly the way I remembered from my childhood as this new and different woman. I had looked forward to the stay for a couple of weeks and yearned, apprehensively of course, for some one on one time with my darling husband with out the babies pulling us in a thousand different directions, waking on our own accord and not when a pushy 3 year old dictated it was time for breakfast, getting in and out of the car with nothing in our arms but each other. To not be distracted by diapers and trips to the potty, kissing boo boos and rendering timely and child appropriate meals. I was blissfully oblivious as to how much of myself is defined by caring for my children!
That first night welcomed by my lovely mother, always the epitome comfort, I was excited to walk through the gazebo on the top of the hill and through those familiar doors into that warm and loving lake house that I remember so well. I am always able to close my eyes and tour the lake house in my mind I can smell et tou fe, jambalaya and my grandmothers roux that was always awaiting my family upon our arrival for our childhood vacations. I can see myself sitting at my grandfathers bar whilst he prepared us Shirley temples with a maraschino cherry on top as all of the adults indulged in happy hour and listened to Roy Orbinson and Glen Campbell. I can identify everyone of my grandmothers little Nick knacks and shadow boxes that as a child fascinated me so. The paintings on the walls that my grandmother painted and the furniture and souvenirs that I can remember so vividly her purchasing during on their many visits to our homes through the years in the handful of southern states that my fathers work carried us to. But something huge had changed. Not the house, not my mothers smile not the bar or knick knacks. Me. I was glad to walk in hand and hand with my husband and allow him into this window of my past to give him an experience that I so treasured as a child but I was struck by a anxiety attack of epic proportions within moments of our arrival. As with any subconscious attack on yourself I was unable to put my finger on the immediate cause. I sat in my grandfathers chair (he and grandma were asleep when we arrived) and took it all in, breathed through the anxiety and was able to regain my composure to where I was at least functional and able to stand upright again.
Perhaps I could attribute it to the circumstances surrounding the visit, my strong and capable grandfather recovering from a dramatic trauma to his body, or to the absence of my father and cousins and siblings who were always along for the celebrated visits, this was certainly the first visit of its kind. But I really think that my identity crises hit me full force upon entering the lake house.
Who am I? No children distracting me and my husband and I in pseudo vacation mode were attending to our own needs I was left searching for where I belonged in this formerly comfortable and familiar equation. Was I Missy, child, and granddaughter, no not anymore. I am wife and mother and this is the first time she has been to the lake house and she was there with out the children. For the entire length of our stay I felt detached I indulged in stories of my heritage in a way that I never had before through stories from my grandparents and stared at the faces marveling in the adoration that still thrived as it did when I was a young child. I enjoyed my husband and we even slept in a little, but I felt like a void of personality. I could feel that my contributions socially left much to be desired and my grandfather even commented on how quiet I was...and I am not ever Quiet...or I didn't used to be anyway. I let my wonderful husband lead the conversations and just set back like a patron watching a movie that they were really enjoying. I let him drive the conversations the way I let him drive the household, with no doubts or reservations that it was the right thing to do.
But what about Missy...daughter and grand daughter, where did she go? Is she still in me at all? Have I become co dependant on my dependants?! Must my children actually be present to fill me with material for discussions. Have I trained myself to lean so heavily on my husband that I allow him to shoulder not only the financial burdens of our immediate family, but also my entire social identity...I may be worse off than I thought...to be continued...
