When my mom was just 9 years old, her mother left home. My grandfather, whom I affectionately called “Gramps,” suddenly found himself raising his two daughters alone on a tight budget that came from playing the piano. There were times when clean clothes were scarce, dishes piled up in the sink, and the rent was often a struggle to pay.
Most kids in my mom’s shoes might have struggled to face the person who abandoned them. Yet, despite the difficulties, she didn’t cut her mother out of her life. In fact, my mom ensured that her mother and her mom’s partner, Jack—who would later become her husband—were regular fixtures in my childhood, alongside Gramps.
Our home, the quaint red-brick row house where my mom still resides, transformed into the hub for every family gathering, holiday, and birthday celebration. It was a space filled with laughter, joy, and my mother’s unwavering commitment to ensure my sister and I grew up surrounded by love, no matter the complexities in the family dynamics.
Of course, there were moments of tension and arguments. But more often than not, our gatherings were alive with music, dancing, and plenty of delicious food. Gramps would play the piano, Jack would sing, and you would hardly notice the intertwined histories of their relationships; they seemed like old friends instead of former spouses.
Interestingly, my father’s parents had also divorced, yet every holiday, they would come together. Perhaps it was for the grandchildren or to enjoy a glass of wine, but they all made it a point to share in our lives. My paternal grandfather often brought along his latest girlfriend, while my Nana, his ex-wife, showered us with love and joined in the fun. Even amidst musical disagreements between Jack and Gramps, they were always there, cheering on my sister and me as we danced around the living room.
As time passed, my grandmother’s husband passed away, and Gramps faced the challenges of dementia, often repeating the same stories over and over. My mom, with her characteristic humor, would say, “He didn’t know his elbow from his behind,” which, sadly, was probably accurate. Despite years of smoking and drinking, my grandmother continues to defy odds and remains with us.
Though my mom’s relationship with her mother can be complicated, they still maintain a bond. My grandmother attends every family event, remaining a significant presence in my life and now in my children’s lives as well. Through the ups and downs—open-heart surgeries, dementia, depression, and Alzheimer’s—my mother has managed to keep everyone connected. While our gatherings have become smaller, the spirit of love and togetherness still fills the red-brick house during holidays.
Even when we talk over one another or squabble about trivial matters, I understand why we come together—it’s all thanks to my mom. She never received a formal education on family; she had to learn and build it herself. In doing so, she taught us all that family is often messy, chaotic, and loud, but it’s a beautiful chaos that is absolutely worth embracing.
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In summary, my mother’s lessons about family have shaped who I am today. Through her resilience and love, she has shown that no family is perfect, but with effort, the bonds can be incredibly strong and fulfilling.