26 Sep Our Long-distance Grandma
Jennifer Fergus reflects on her relationship with her grandchildren, who live overseas.
As I was introducing myself to my granddaughter’s teacher, a voice yelled out from across the playground: “Her real name is Grandma!” The teacher and I paused, looked at each other, and smiled. She and I both realised it was a lovely moment.
However, for me, it was an extraordinary moment. You see, last time my husband and I had made the gruelling trip to London, in order to surprise my granddaughter on her third birthday, she had asked me during the initial excitement, “Are you another Grandma?” She had wanted to know because she had only known her grandma through photos and phone calls and, importantly, from her parents’ stories. At that time, my son got the photo from her bedroom, held it up beside my face and said: “See, it’s Grandma”.
So, 18 months later, there we were again, wanting to re-establish our relationship with our granddaughter and her younger brother. Fortuitously, this visit coincided with our granddaughter starting school, and we shared in the anticipation and general excitement of it all. Her parents and playgroup had prepared her well so that on her first day, she set off eagerly for the big adventure. She had a lot of support: her parents, her two-year-old brother and us. She held our hands and skipped along, thrilled with her new school shoes and uniform.
We entered the gate and joined the throng. As she waited in line, her parents took turns joining her to have a quiet word or to share a joke. I became the proud grandma taking photos, hoping it wasn’t frowned on in that London schoolyard – these days, it’s hard to know what is acceptable and what is not. Only one photo shows her looking a bit uncertain as she headed off to her classroom. I captured her turning around just in time to see her brother slowly waving goodbye. They both appeared to know it was a significant separation.
The next day, our contingent again happily walked to school, and I suspect the staff and other parents wondered how long we’d keep it up. We must have looked incredibly doting. What they didn’t know was that our son and daughter-in-law were making the most of our visit and were going away later that morning for three days while we babysat. In four-and-a-half years, they’d never had that luxury – one of the downsides of living on the other side of the world from us. So, that afternoon, only three of us were there to collect the new schoolgirl. I waited until the other children had departed before approaching my granddaughter’s teacher. I started to explain who I was and how special it was to be there when, suddenly, my granddaughter’s piercing voice interrupted our conversation with her comment that my real name was Grandma. I don’t know why she said what she said. Perhaps she was trying to help her teacher understand my significance. But why didn’t she simply shout, ‘That’s my Grandma!’? Clearly, she wanted her teacher to know what she knew was my real name, not the one she presumed, rightly, I’d given to introduce myself. She did not want any confusion this time.
I’ve continued to think about that moment. I’ve wondered if she’d remembered what she’d asked me all those months ago when she’d tried to identify who I was. I’ve wondered if that had prompted her outburst. Little did she realise how much I was affected by her need to clarify who I was for her teacher. It convinced me of my place in her life.
We had almost three weeks with our London family. We went away for a day or so every week to give them some space – it’s not always easy having a family invasion. My son and daughter-in-law were very generous and patient, providing numerous opportunities for us to be involved in their lives. Our grandson, following his sister’s example, ‘took to us’ easily. It was wonderful to hear them wake up in the morning—even if a bit early—and anticipate their scramble into our room.
Our trip was almost a year ago now, and it’s very telling how absence can affect a relationship. I realise it’s to be expected, given that children are all about ‘now’. Inevitably, the easy intimacy we shared with our grandchildren has lessened. We can tell by their voices when they speak to us on the telephone. Of course, I’m still Grandma, as I’ll always be. But without a doubt, my real name is Grandma-Who-Lives-Far-Away-In-Australia.
Illustration by Cheri Scholten
