I just realized as I sat down to write that it has been three months since I posted. I have had a number of blogs bouncing around in my head but have not put them to paper. Sometimes the weeks fly by with a mind of their own. I hang on during the week and then the weekend goes by so quickly that it’s Sunday evening before I realize that the weekend is gone.

I have been writing letters during this pandemic to my husband’s 105-year-old grandmother to brighten up her day. I make a copy for his parents as well, but it is mostly for the grandmother. I can only get out there every two or three weeks so in between my visits I try to bring our lives into the letters. Sometimes getting the letter in the mail on Sunday is all I can do. I need to remember to write short blogs if that is all I can do.

The blog I have wanted to write first is about a trip out of state my husband and I took right before Thanksgiving. It was the first time I have flown since the pandemic hit but we weighed the risks and decided to go anyway. The trip was to see my oldest daughter, her husband and little girl, who was turning three the weekend we were there.

My blogs in the early years were mostly about this daughter, as a way to write out my pain, grief and rage against her and against life. As I came to terms with the fact that life is about both the good and the bad circumstances in life, I wrote less and less of her. I managed to move from furious dislike to a moderate state of wishing her well but without putting my heart on the line. I have stayed there for years, even in these last two years when she has clearly been trying to work on a relationship with us, through text, pictures and video. I am courteous with her, I say all the right things, but I keep my heart to myself.

Even when getting ready to travel to see my daughter last month, I had mixed feelings, more not wanting to go than eagerness to see her. It’s hard to move beyond the past and it’s hard to trust again. In the end, we went for the sake of the little girl; it’s never been her fault either that her mother and grandparents have been at odds.

The visit ended up being a wonderful time with my daughter, her husband and their daughter. For the first time, they invited us to where they lived, and we got to see their apartment. We were able to interact with them during the little family celebration for the girl and during walks outside around their complex. We saw where my daughter works and met the owners. My daughter has kept this job for quite some time now and seems to be the “right hand” of the owner. She is the breadwinner right now with the husband being “Mr. Mom” and taking care of the little girl during this pandemic when childcare is closed.

We took plenty of pictures of course. The little girl quickly took to us and called us Nana and Papa (which of course melted our hearts). I have a picture on my phone of her holding my hand and my husband’s hand on a snowy trail, bundled in her pink jacket, looking like she does this every day with us.

Did that visit fix everything? No. The husband, as much as we do like him, is a different person than the young man who is the father of our oldest granddaughter and in our heart, is our “real” or at least our “first” son-in-law. The little girl, adorable as she is, is the fourth daughter my daughter has borne. I have to tell myself that is OK. The oldest granddaughter is well cared for her father and loved by two sets of grandparents. The second and third daughters are well loved by a wonderful couple and have doting relatives as well. As complicated as this situation seems, all the little girls are cared for and that really is what counts. I hope someday that all these little girls know each other and have a chance to become friends.

At the end of the visit, my heart thawed just a little towards my daughter. For the first time in a decade, I think…maybe…almost…I am willing to let God forge a new bond between my daughter and myself. Even now as I type this, I know that I continue to struggle in fully trusting her as I still remember so much of the past. If this were a Hallmark movie, my heart would be knit back together better than ever by the time the credits started rolling. It is “real life” though. Real life is much harder and much more complicated.

Still, God is working on me. There is a gossamer thin strand from my heart to my daughter again. It could easily break but I think over time, it will become stronger. For now, that is enough.