I haven’t written a lot since my mom died.
Granted, a lot of that has been because my time was sucked up with other things, but let’s be real – I didn’t know what to say.
Until now.
My mom was an amazing mother, raising four of us on her own in the colorful and turbulent late 60s and early 70s. I was the “easy” kid and I put safety pins in my ears in 1977!
But it wasn’t until later, when I saw my mom with my kids, that I realized what lucky kids they were, and what a lucky kid I was. She was there for almost every birth of her five grandkids. (My middle boy came so fast his dad almost missed the event.)
And she was patient, kind and loving with those grandkids from the time they were born until they graduated from college. I don’t even think she ever missed a birthday party, and if she did, she would celebrate it when she could.
I just thought she was a nice lady. Little did I know she was suffering from “Grandma Brain.”
And now I caught it, too.
A week before my mom died, my son told us he and his wife were expecting. The due date was late April, but their daughter had other ideas, and arrived a month early on Easter Eve, March 30. She takes oxygen and had to have a hospital stay to regulate her feeding, but she and her parents are surviving like superstars. I know. I just visited them. And when I got home, I knew I had “Grandma Brain.” I cried because I missed that little girl so much.
I am not making up the term “Grandma Brain.” In a Good Housekeeping story this month, they recognize that it isn’t an official term, but that neurological research has shown that something unique happens to our brains when we see our grandchildren, which explains our own gaga symptoms.
An Emory University study scanned the brains of 50 grandmothers while showing them pictures of their grandchildren. When grannies saw photos of their grandkids, there was activation in areas associated with emotional empathy. “That suggests that grandmothers are geared toward feeling what their grandchildren are feeling when they interact with them,” Dr. James Rilling told GH. “If their grandchild is smiling, they feel the child’s joy.” And if the child is crying, the grandmother will feel the child’s distress.
One writer, Janet Meisel, wrote on Medium, “Am I supposed to feel this much love?”
Well, yes. I was warned. My sisters, friends and cousins all told me that there was nothing like being a grandparent. I was skeptical. How could I love something as much as I did my own kids – and my dog? It made no sense to me. I like kids and all and used to be the editor of two of the Bay Area’s top parenting magazines. Being a parent has been the biggest joy of my life. How could a grandchild be any different?
Then I met my granddaughter. About the fifth time I held her, when she was in the hospital hooked up to tubes, and it was snowing outside in Colorado, and her exhausted parents were slouched on the couch, I looked down at Lucy. And my heart exploded. Lucy was happy. She may have been connected to all this stuff to help her eat and breathe easier, but she was happy. And I was lost.
There is nothing in the world as important to me as my granddaughter right now, and I’m even considering renting an apartment or condo in Colorado to help her parents when they go back to work. She needs her grandmother – ideally grandmothers – around to show her how to navigate life when her parents say “No.” She’ll need grandmas to read her books and tell her about the old days, like when one of her grandpas was in a rock band and another grandma wanted to be Patti Smith when she grew up.
Surprisingly, the Emory study did not include grandfathers. Something tells me that if it did the results wouldn’t be much different.
Now if they would just do a study on dog moms.