As a Gen X lola, I'm learning to make more room for love
By
Ann Angala
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations.
While we were waiting for my first grandson to be born, people were asking me a lot of questions. Was I excited? What would I make him call? "Glamma," "Mommy Lola"? Not "grandma," right? I'm always dressed in my tank top, shorts, and sneakers. Was I ready to be a grandmother? Was I gonna live with my daughter to help out? Honestly, I was hesitant to admit that I haven’t planned that far yet. I had no emotions attached to the role. Since I have not experienced it, I didn't know how or what to feel.
We were in the waiting stage, and that was where I was living, taking it one contraction and one centimeter at a time. Curious as I am, it was hard not to ask my daughter what her doctor said after each checkup. I was anxious about her labor, childbirth, the possible pain that she would be experiencing, and that the small details of having a grandchild had not taken any form or shape in the limited capacity of my psyche, even if the third generation of my lineage was days or even hours away.
Given my disconnect, am I the poster girl of the Gen X grandparent described in a blog as the worst grandparent generation? The author said that we, Gen-Xers, are unwilling to clock in regular hours and provide blanket support compared to the previous generations—the way my mom did. I feel that the piece took on an argument that applied to a different culture; correct me if I'm wrong. The Filipino grandparents I personally know who are my age are still doting and very present. I think that the judgment of being the worst in grandparenting stems from the expectation of the family on how the role should be played.
Luckily, I did not carry that kind of expectation. Before my grandson was born, I had separate conversations with my daughter and her partner. I asked what participation they needed from me during childbirth and beyond. I told them, whatever cracks they wanted me to fill, I am for it. If they needed me to stay in, I would be good. If they needed daily help, I could visit a few hours a day. But for them, the picture was clear: They wanted to enjoy being a hands-on Dad and Mom and experience parenthood, full on. They believe that would be fun. Mabuhay! A cheer for them as nurturing, tough, and adventurous parents; and for me, as I get to retain the life I have built, with being Lola as the cherry on top. Life is indeed sweet.
Baby M was born on Sept. 25. The labor and birth were not easy, to say the least, and please indulge me. I need to mention that I am mighty proud of my daughter for enduring 15 hours of labor, an emergency C-Section, postpartum medical issues, and still standing her ground on breastfeeding her son every two hours.
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Today, a few weeks in as parents, the couple has gotten used to the drill: 24/7 on-call for milk, multiple diaper changes, early morning sun basking, short park visits, playing classical music, figuring out the installation of the car seat for every different ride, prepping healthy food, regular pedia and OB-GYN checkups. And as for us, the newly minted grandparents (and aunts and uncles, too), we are happily waiting at the sidelines, with hands extended and willing to be pulled in anytime we are needed.
I visit Baby M for a few hours almost every day. I look at his calm, angelic face and feel his tiny warm body wrapped in his baby blue swaddle. I am at peace with the thought that he knows that he is loved. A few hours later, I say goodbye to everyone, head home, or to the range with my partner, or to the cinema, or to the sunken garden for a picnic with my college buddies, or to a random coffee shop with a book. Simple, easy, but still a lola.
Soon, another cherry will be added to my life. My daughter, who got married about three years ago to a man with children from previous marriages, is having one of her stepchildren live with them. This has brought excitement to my daughter—and to me, too.
M is 7, very spirited and smart. When the children are with their father and my daughter, I make it a point to video call. I love seeing and talking to them. They live in a different country, and the fact that M will be living with them soon is another major push for me to visit and endure the visa processing saga.
We have moved our Christmas to mid-November when my five children will be complete for the first time in years. The pain of empty nesting and a continuously growing family has a way of balancing each other.
This was the tug of emotion Mama always mentioned, which I never understood until my own children started growing up. And despite my feelings of resentment towards her, which has been professionally identified as my managed trauma, my children, nephews, nieces, and cousins love her fiercely. She orchestrated her third-generation annual get-together. There were trips to the only panaderia in town, swimming in the stream with the carabaos, kalamansi picking in the backyard, running around her garden, and finally resting in their little nipa hut. She made this Lupon reunion possible by collecting five-peso coins throughout the year in her thick, 2-feet-tall glass jar, and whatever deficit was supplemented by the equally loved Lolo. They both made sure that every summer, their 10 apos were home together, until they didn’t.
I fondly remember our childhood Christmases spent in Vigan, our hometown in Ilocos. During those times, my maternal Lola left an indelible imprint on me. My Lolo passed away when my youngest aunt was still a little girl, and Lola single-handedly brought up her brood of five, who had different temperaments. She ran a portrait studio frequented by the taga-Vigans, especially during holidays. I remember her seated in what was the reception area. A makeshift table covered in dark brown wood stain, with a plastic cover draped over it. That was her work table, office space, and cash register. She manually cut ID pictures to size, while in the room behind the dining area, the photographers painted the newly developed 8” x 10” black-and-white photos and turned them into colored portraits. She computed using a calculator with big numbers, which I occasionally used to cross-check my multiplication prowess. Lola just showed up. She was on her desk every day, not a word of complaint, and she treated everyone like family. I pull up those memories every time I feel like giving up.
This is what I proudly call my family, broken as we all are. We redefined this basic unit and toppled the barriers of distance, money, language, and whatever seemingly unscalable wall, to make everyone within the proximity (and anyone who wants to be part of the clan) feel welcome and valued. The world needs this kind of sincere love, after all. We fill each other's gaps with no expectations. We embrace each other with trust and respect. We are different; we argue and we are imperfect, but in the end, we know that there are people who have our backs, anytime, anywhere.
It's Gen Xers' time to be the drivers of the family. Being so new at this, we are lost. But we have two solid generations in the past and another two wise generations in front of us to guide us, so contrary to what has been said, I feel excitement brewing inside me, knowing that we will do just fine.
Generations appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.
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