When my mother was just nine years old, she faced a life-changing event: her own mother decided to leave. My grandfather, whom I affectionately called “Gramps,” was suddenly thrust into the role of a single parent to two daughters while earning a meager living as a piano player. There were days when the laundry piled up, the dishes remained unwashed, and the rent seemed like a distant dream.
Many kids in my mom’s shoes might have harbored resentment toward the one who left, but my mother took a different route. Despite the challenges, she chose not to sever ties with her mother. In fact, she made sure her mom and her boyfriend, Jack—who later became her husband—were prominent figures in my childhood, just like Gramps was.
Our home, a charming red-brick row house where my mom still resides, became a hub for family gatherings, filled with laughter, conversations, and a fair share of family drama. Thanks to my mother’s unwavering determination, my sister and I grew up enveloped in love, even if it sometimes came with a side of chaos.
Arguments would flare up now and then, but they were always overshadowed by the sound of music, dancing, and plenty of delicious food. Gramps would be at the piano, Jack would belt out tunes, and you’d never guess that one had married the other’s former spouse; they just seemed like old pals reminiscing about the good old days.
Divorce wasn’t just a theme on my mom’s side—my dad’s family had experienced their share too. Yet, for reasons known only to them—perhaps for the grandkids or just an excuse to pour some wine—everyone managed to come together for family events. My paternal grandfather would show up with his latest girlfriend, while my Nana, his ex, showered us with affection and kept the rhythm going with her tapping foot.
As life progressed, Gramps faced health struggles, including severe dementia that often left him repeating the same stories at our gatherings. My mom would simply say, “He didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground,” and perhaps there was some truth to that. Despite the odds, my grandmother is still kicking, outliving many expectations.
Even though my mom’s relationship with her mother can be challenging, they maintain a connection. My grandmother remains a constant presence at family events, now sharing in the lives of my children as well. Through thick and thin—be it surgeries, dementia, or the ups and downs of life—my mother has been the glue holding us all together.
While our gatherings might be quieter today and the piano gathers dust, we still come together at our beloved red-brick house during the holidays. We may sometimes talk over one another or get ruffled over trivial matters, but it’s clear why we all gather—it’s all thanks to my mom. She had to carve out her own understanding of family and, in doing so, taught us all that family life is a beautiful mess—loud, chaotic, and filled with joy. It may never be perfect, but boy, is it worth it!
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In summary, my mother’s journey of building and maintaining our family through love, resilience, and messy gatherings has taught me invaluable lessons about what it means to be connected to one another, despite life’s ups and downs.