Saying Goodbye to my Granddaughter 
One might ask – what is there to grieve about? No one has died. No one is even sick – this week – thank heavens. No one has abandoned me. But I’m grieving just the same. My daily care of baby Brighton, my son and daughter-in-law’s second child, has ended. We spent eight months together five days a week while her parents worked, and she became such an integral part of my life I almost forgot that she wasn’t my child, but my grandchild. Before she was born I offered to care for my kids’ tiny baby until they felt safe bringing in a nanny. I became part of their Covid bubble. I had taken care of their older child five years earlier, and I was delighted to take this role again. But this was a little different. We were still living with Covid, and Brighton was born early.
Coming Home
When she first came home from the NICU in September she was such a little thing that I was afraid of hurting her. My own three babies had been over eight pounds at birth, and Brighton was only half that. But she was amazing – all her parts worked, and she showed her emotions on her face and with her body. In just a few days I learned to change her premie diapers and onesies, and we were communicating like old friends. It is a privilege to watch an infant grow and learn. Not wanting them to miss out, I texted videos and photos of each milestone to her parents, and in the evenings in my apartment, I looked at the photos over and over.
Infancy
The first time she was able to close her hands over a crocheted ball we rejoiced. Her first social smile was another occasion for happiness. I’d forgotten how those baby smiles can invoke joy in the receiver. We spent many hours in a cozy rocking chair. I never got bored.
I watched her face slowly relax into slumber, then I watched her sleep, marveling at the fluttering eyelids and tiny baby hands. In later months I would snuggle with her in the rocker while she coped with teething, colds, and tummy aches. Always we returned to it at feeding time, when I sang to her the medley of songs I developed when my own children were babies. Over the months there were so many delights – the first time she reached up to touch a hanging toy or put her hands around my neck when I lifted her out of bed. Around Christmas, she learned to turn over, and jump up and down in her “bouncy bounce.” Sitting, crawling, kneeling, and standing came in the spring, and by May I was chasing her all over the house trying to keep her safe.
On the Move
We decided it was time to invite a younger caregiver into the mix, an au pair. In June Delfina arrived from Argentina. She had several Zoom conversations with Brighton and Adelaide before arriving, and both girls took to her wholeheartedly. She is stronger than I am and has more energy and faster reflexes. I love watching her play with Brighton, who delights in the games Delfina invents. Brighton continues to grow and learn at a dizzying pace.
Starting Over
I once wrote an essay called Grieving the Goldfish in which I described the sense of loss when my pond fish were eaten by raccoons. Reading the piece again, I remembered that hole in my heart, and my realization that each loss in our life reprises all the others. And that even so we can heal, and move on. This loss is kind of an imaginary one. No one is keeping me from holding my grandchild, or enjoying her continued growth and learning. She’s not going away. She’s just 20 minutes south on 101, and thriving with her new carer. It only feels like a loss because I haven’t developed a new routine or new projects. But I will, and then my life won’t feel so empty. 
On my final day caring for Brighton, I asked my son to photograph us in the rocking chair one more time. As I smiled for the camera, Brighton held her own bottle and wiggled to find a comfortable position. She’s her own person now, likely to form her little hands into claws and roar like a lion at the dinner table. Those bright eyes, a little sleepy in this picture, make me smile every time I see them. They remind me of that wonderful period in my life when I was lucky enough to be daily a part of hers. Did this essay evoke any memories for you? Have you felt the loss of a time in your life that brought you happiness? What did you do to start over? Please post your thoughts in the comments section below. Marlene
Colleen, I relate so much to what you wrote here! My daughter just turned 3, and I, too, feel some grief over all those months (really, nearly a year) of new motherhood when I couldn’t get out of the PPD/PPA worry cycle. The best I can think to do now is, as you said, to stay present with what is, to recognize that all of it—good and not so good—changes (and changes pretty quickly, too!), and to show my past self some compassion. Once I learned the word ‘matrescence,’ I realized just how profound an identity change it is, becoming a mother. Anyway, thanks for sharing.
Such a lovely piece of writing, Marlene, and gentle as a baby’s cheek is soft. I read it slowly as though to read it any faster would awaken her.
So glad you can savor those times while planning your next adventure. – Erik
Hi, Marlene!
As I watch my son, now almost 4, grow and thrive, I often find myself grieving that as a new mother it was so hard to break myself free from the fear and worry that robbed me of so many moments of joy. Now, I work hard to stay present and remind myself that these moments don’t last forever (for better or for worse- haha!), to remind myself that I am learning and each day I have the opportunity to try again, the best I can.
Thank you for your post and perspective. ❤️-Colleen (DKG Gamma Omega 🌹)
Colleen, Thanks for the reminder.
Hi Marlene: I was touched reading your blog about grieving. Many thoughts, I think because grieving shows up in many ways.
Sometimes you grieve for a job or when a project you are involved with finishes.
When things come to an end and there is a big change in my life, I like to take some time for myself. Kind of regain some balance. And then before I know it, I am knee-deep again.
Gaby,
Thank you for your thoughtful words and good advice. Without a plan to do so, I spent several days doing nothing but reading Louise Penny’s latest mystery, which I picked up at Reagan National before my flight home. I’m starting to develop a to-do list and things are looking less bleak.
Hi, Grandma,
Thank you for the sweet pictures of you with your little grandbaby. What a wonderful gift to be able to spend that time with her. They grow so quickly!
Much love,
Dorothy
Oh, Marlene, this post brought tears to my eyes! Transitions are hard—and not just for the tiny babies among us. Brighton was/is so lucky to have you.
When I’ve found myself starting over after some big transition in my life, I’ve relied on creating new routines, just as you mentioned. I’ve picked up a new hobby or decided to get something fun and random on the calendar to look forward to. But only after a really good cry (or two). I’ve noticed that I tend to keep busy to avoid feeling the feelings, which just makes them hang around longer, of course. Letting myself experience the grief and feel at loose ends for a while is not enjoyable in the moment, but it seems to do the trick.
I’d love to hear what you’re up to once you find your new rhythm. In the meantime, sending you a big hug.
Good advice, Helen. Doing nothing is exactly what I feel like doing now.
Great photos! And writing.
Almost as good as seeing you in person!
Cynthia
Thank you, Cynthia. See you at Shut Up and Write!