Seeing The Real

I slept through the night last night with relatively few bits of being awake. That's the first time in a week. Today has felt much more manageable because of it. The sun is shining. That helps, too.

Sparkly Eyed Grandson will be here soon for a sleepover. He has seen all the characteristics on that picture to the right that make up his Nana. I'm more than fine with that. He is an old soul in a little person's body and I love him immensely. My grandchildren give me such joy. I couldn't have predicted that they would play a part in my healing. I didn't know, before grandchildren, that I was capable of loving anyone so fiercely. That's the truth, be it as it may. They melt my heart.

I try to make space for my grandchildren to be all those things on the photo up there, too. What greater gift could I give them? Sometimes I think my message to them is, "I see you and what I see is beyond okay." 

Our grandchildren get to reap the benefits of all the inner work Dearest One and I are doing. I work hard to never invade their space without asking permission. I don't take their no personally.

I speak up when other's invade their space and remind them to stop it. We still live in a culture that often sees children as not having a right to a voice about their personal bubble. It irritates the shit out of me. Especially because of my trauma history I would never expect a grandchild, or any child for that matter, to give me a hug or a kiss or any touch at all. When my grandchildren snuggle up to me it is of their own volition. (And I soak up every moment.)

I know that my actions speak for me. What comes out of my mouth has little to teach unless it is cohesive with my actions. My grandson, especially, has heard me say words I'd rather he didn't. ("Nana, why did you say, 'fuck'?") Although his capability to repeat things in perfect context maybe isn't such a bad thing.

On sleepover nights he still comes into our bedroom the next morning and crawls into bed with us. I pull a bit of my pillow over for him to share. He snuggles down and usually lets out a contented sigh. I love that he feels safe.

One morning he crawled into our bed and snuggled between us. When Dearest One woke up I reached across and put my hand on his arm. I left it there for a while, content to talk without saying a word. Sparkly Eyed Grandson looked at us, leaned towards me and whispered, "I love him, too."