I was 9 years old when my father told us that he was divorcing my mother and getting married to someone else.
I knew that my parents’ marriage was on the rocks. Starting when I was about 5, my parents began to live separately. We were living on the East Coast at that time, and my dad began making trips to California. Soon, he told us he was moving there, and although my mother had no interest in moving to the West Coast — and had zero friends or family there — she followed in an effort to keep our family together.
Over the next few years, my parents tried to work things out
There were times it seemed like they would and times when it seemed pretty hopeless. Still, when my dad announced he was leaving my mom for good, it came as a shock to my mom, my sister, and me.
For a few years, my mom raised us in California as a single mom. It wasn’t easy, especially since California still felt like a foreign land to her, and she had very little help or support. She was a teacher, and being a working single mom on a tight budget was tremendously challenging. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother so tired, depleted, and stressed.
When I was 12, she decided to move back to the East Coast, back to her hometown, to live near her parents. There was a huge custody battle that ensued between her and my father, but that’s a whole other story. The point was that living alone, across the country from her closest family and friends, had taken its toll, and my mother realized she couldn’t raise us alone.
Making the choice to move back home, and to be supported by her parents wasn’t easy
It was hard on me to move again, to change schools — to leave my friends and my dad. But looking back, I see that it was the bravest and most loving thing my mother could do for herself and for us.
We ended up moving to an apartment a block away from my grandparents’ apartment. My sister was still young enough that she needed someone to walk her to her bus stop and wait with her. Every morning, my grandpa would walk over to our apartment and see her off to school.
A few afternoons a week, instead of having to be shuttled off to an afterschool center, my sister would spend the afternoon with my grandparents. She’d paint or sew with my grandma, and my grandpa would take her on nature walks. He taught her how to identify different trees and birds in our neighborhood.
My grandparents were there for us on the days school was closed and my mom had to work. They cared for us when we were sick and picked us up early from school when the need arose. My grandmother, a former math teacher, tutored me for the math section of the SAT (that was a bit of a disaster, but it wasn’t her fault!), and my grandparents came to every school event and performance of ours.
I know they helped my mom in ways that I didn’t even notice
They took us out to eat and fed us dinner constantly, helped my mom with home repairs and other financial burdens. Most of all, they offered my mom love and support, and the reassurance a working mom needs that an extra set of hands are always nearby.
Now, as a working mom myself with two school-aged kids and a very involved spouse, I know how vital this sort of help is. I can’t believe my mom spent so many years in California without it. It truly takes a village to raise a family, and sometimes that village is two grandparents who are willing and able to help in any way they can.
I will never forget the years that my grandparents lived around the corner from us and were like an extra set of parents for me and my sister. I cry when I think of the selfless love they gave to our family, and the immeasurable ways they supported my single mom.
They are gone now, and I miss them deeply, but the time I spent with them during those years warms my heart and nourishes my soul.
