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Thank You, Grandma



The silence is comfortable and dark—the silence of the boys entrenched in their rooms all day, interacting with friends via online video games, eclipses their dark moods. Occasional outbursts and laughter expose teenage enthusiasm. I can pretend they are happy in our house, until they appear in the kitchen to nourish their bodies with food, their earbuds blocking my voice, eyes averted. I assure myself they are teenagers, their bodies and minds agitating to independence. I recall those years, as an adolescent and as a parent, both roles were difficult.


Blue Boy removes one bud—what is he listening to?—and responds like a normal person when I address him. Avoiding a mumbled surly response, I leave Mowgli alone unless necessary. Despite their unenthusiastic awareness of my presence, I return from travels with small tokens of love. Most recently, after a few days in Kalispell, Montana, and Glacier National Park, I presented Mowgli a choice of huckleberry candies. He accepted the caramels with an audible “Thank you, Grandma.” As it is said, you could have bowled me over.


Blue Boy accepted his gift of huckleberry jam graciously. Later in the day, he offered a compliment: Have you tried it? It is really good. Maybe he will consume it, unlike the last jar of jam, fruit flavored with mild coffee. Without notice his taste for coffee had died out leaving the jar untouched until a year later when I ate it on my toast every morning. It, too, was really good.


Thank you, Grandma. Powerful words when voiced by a loved one. Do you miss me? I text whenever I am gone for a few days, a reference back to years earlier when they were unaware that I wasn’t home despite a three-day absence. Blue Boy always responds; rarely do I hear from Mowgli. While in Montana, the Life 360 app informed me they were together. I assumed Blue Boy was driving and told Mowgli to reply: yes, we do. Blue Boy added 😊.


Blue Boy is the scientific engineer, concrete and detailed in thought, an introvert. Married to the same personality, I drill him with appropriate replies: Of course I missed you Grandma; You are the best, Grandma; Thank you for getting my laundry. His future wife can thank me.


Mowgli on the other hand, emotional and sensitive, needs all his internal resources to handle his personality. Heeding the needs of others is overwhelming. Recalling my mother’s nagging during my teenage angst, I leave him alone. Nagging irritates the wound. It does not heal, does not allow space for introspection and maturation.


It is difficult to stand apart knowing that in a short time the boys will go their ways and I will go mine. I am assured that Blue Boy will always respond to me wherever he is. It is uncomfortably easy to imagine Mowgli disappearing completely from my life. Thank you, Grandma, he said. I will never forget it.

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