I never met my paternal grandmother. She is one I so wish I had a chance to get to know. Papa would always tell me that I looked like her. He also told me that she never raised her voice. This used to challenge me at child number one, two, and three. Twelve years later, when I got over myself being in the midst of my career and feeling perhaps that my older three showed they no longer needed me, we brought two more into this world. The funny thing is, five children later, how I wished Papa was here to tell me the very same thing now. Why? Because I would say after five kids later, I think I’m almost there- the not yelling part. How did I get to arrive to this point? Honest to goodness answer: I don’t have that same energy as I used to five kids before.
I do recall thinking this to my defense when Papa told me of this great character his mother, my grandmother had. At first, I felt immensely challenged. I knew it was something my grandmother had won over me. And perhaps in search for some defense, I realized, my Papa was child number nine. Yes. 9. At the time he had told me this, I was only at child number three. It didn’t hurt me that in noting his mom never raised her voice was quite probably from him knowing I was contrary to such trait. I liked having that challenge of that one woman my Papa only spoke of with such great admiration. I have been working on me being more soft-spoken since.
Since Papa is no longer here, I just have to silently laugh to myself. While I want to give my grandmother the benefit of the doubt that she was remarkably gentle and sweet from the beginning of motherhood, my Uncle Tony, child number 1, if she was anything like me, then I have to also see her as a young lady with so much bursting fire in her as well. I still have some burst of fire left in me. However, let me be the first to admit that some of that fire I placed into my children, I never got back. Let me be the first to admit that after going through some “moments” with our first three, while I stood my ground and my stance remained strong, inside, all the soldiers in me were screaming, “Geez! How much longer do we have to keep fighting like this?!” I could feel myself wearing down, one standing up after another.
Child number four and five have it easier. Notice I didn’t say easy. I’m still on watch, but anyone who has ever had to face two daughters who you raised to be Avatars instilled with the powers of AFEW- air, fire, earth, and water, let me be the one to tell you that not only could they bend those natural elements, but their love was at times, like Kitana’s “Kiss of Death” in Mortal Kombat. I love those girls of mine, but I got to face the best of ME in them. Two of me against me during their teenage years- that’s a sold-out battle arena.
While our oldest and only boy of eighteen years learned to be tamed for the presence of his younger sisters who needed his gentility, our two youngest boys have only to feed each other with fire. What has happened to me? I have learned to let go. From vacuuming the floors with perfect lines to now just being grateful that there are no footprints to clean up on the floor, life has arrived to a… hush. No. This does not mean the house is quiet. Quite the contrary with still two very spunky, full of life boys battling out with each other from who can finish the fastest to who can hit the hardest, the house is a happily still boisterous home. However, my mind is now at a “Hush!” The soldiers are now being allowed to have their guards down and at times, rest. Sometimes I still get triggered, but the soldiers within me are enjoying their rest. I hear them saying, “Hush!” each time they hear me stand up. I’m standing down.
I’d like to think that’s what my grandmother did by the time she had child number 9, my dearest Papa. Knowing his great spirit that I do recall still riding a motorbike just a few months before he left me, I know her soldiers inside eventually said, “Hush!”, too. I’m getting there, Papa. Almost like your Mama. Almost.
