My parents have been abducted

Sometimes I wonder if my real parents have been abducted by aliens. The parents I grew up with could not possibly be the same people who are now my children’s grandparents. Some people reason that with time comes wisdom. Absolutely not true! I think my parents were wiser when I was a child. Now they think feeding children unlimited amounts of sugar, buying them anything they want, never telling them “no” and not offering an ounce of discipline is the best way to raise a child. Who are these people? The worst part is the denial! They will lead my children to believe that they were far and away the best parents in the world, which is why they are such awesome grandparents.

I saw my dad less than a handful of times during my first pregnancy. Most of my family was at the hospital the night my daughter was born. As expected so was my dad. What I never saw coming was his reaction to his first grand baby. He glowed. He beamed. He kept hugging my husband and telling him what an amazing job he had done. The next morning before breakfast was served, my dad was the first to arrive. He was mush! My daughter had abducted his heart, his soul and his reasoning ability.

So what is the best way to deal with grandparents that drive you crazy? Look on the bright side: First, a bad (which is really a good) grandparent is better than no grandparent. Second, there is a small chance they are paying you back for all the things you did to them as a child. And lastly, if you are fortunate, someday you will become a grandparent and before you know it, that new little baby will abduct your heart, your soul and your reasoning ability.

Celebrate life

Today, is the second year anniversary of my dad’s death. This is a day I have dreaded all year. February fourteenth is a day I wish never existed. The last two years have brought with them many tears and overwhelming moments of anguish.

I have had much time to think about what I should do on the anniversary of my dad’s death. Should I lock myself in my bedroom, cry all day or reflect on all the things I miss about him? These are all extremely tempting, but they don’t celebrate his life; they only commemorate his death.

What would my dad want us to do, to celebrate his life? Here’s my fantasy: I would rent a house in Montecito, his ultimate retreat. I would invite all of his family—he would have wanted that. We would start the day at the Santa Barbara harbor, followed by an afternoon at the zoo, ending with dinner at his favorite restaurant. We wouldn’t be sad; we would reminisce and be thankful for all the memories he left us. We would laugh, we would cry.

To celebrate means to observe a day with ceremonies of respect, festivity or rejoicing. Grief can be so overwhelming that we forget to celebrate what is left behind. We don’t remember the good times because it causes too much pain. We aren’t thankful for the short time we had; we are only bitter that it didn’t last longer.

These are all normal reactions to loss, but not ones my dad would have wanted for us. His life was about living, about laughing, about loving. He cherished every second. To wallow in self-pity was not his style. He celebrated every day, so why shouldn’t we? I want to celebrate the legacy he left us. My children should know how much he adored them. I can teach them to have his outlook on life. I can tell them stories so they understand who their grandfather was.

If I died tomorrow, I know my family would be sad, but I hope they would show me respect by rejoicing over what I left behind. My legacy is the memories I have created. Those will continue indefinitely. My dad will be the great-great-grandpa of some future generation. They will exist because of him, and maybe, if the stories have been passed down, they will still celebrate his life.


How do you celebrate life? What legacy will you leave? Please feel free to share your experience.

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