Here I am again

I too have been thinking of thirds of my life, as my grandson, Tomtom transitions out of high school into the wide world.Watching my thoughts and feelings and expression – wanting to find an opening to share who we are with each other.

In hindsight the reasoning for holding myself back through his childhood seem specious.The ‘kool aid’ illusions under which I was functioning convinced me that I was protecting him from the volatility of Joy’s and my relationship by my absence, by leaving him out of it. I believed there was escape or avoidance of pan based on my absence. Since I was the source of the shame, trauma, abandonment, I was willing to cut me out.

Whoops!Turns out we were lying about that. I am. I am Joy’s mother. I am Tomtoms grandma. Pain can’t be avoided. So I spent the last weekend extricating myself from the past lies and attempts to avoid pain, avoid participating in my life. I was floating on the stability of communication and sharing in Joy’s and my relationship (the high).

I planned to compose an approach, a letter, increase communication with Tomtom.

And BOOM (the low).Deal with this.Watch how I deal with the little things.What?What is she talking about?OMG. That thing that was precious to me is trash to her.Ok.Let it go.Let it be trash.Let go of foolish sentimentality, and the preposterous thought that she would be aware of my sentiments.Ok, we are both prone to emotional outbursts.We are both susceptible to illusions and self importance.These things occur.These things pass, like the waves in the ocean and breathing in and out.They are not reasons to suspend communication with Tomtom.They are not reasons to hold back from my family.

I am so happy to know him. I am happy to see his mother and his father and his grandparents in him. I am happy that he brought his mother happiness and purpose and to reunion. I am happy that he has opened up my heart in his peacefulness and strong sense of self. I am grateful to know him. I am grateful for his loyalty to the truth as he sees it.


					
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