“What was the best thing about Ducky?” Mare asks. Two years have passed, and I am gratified: Mare still remembers her.
“She was amazing at loving people,” I say.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean that love is hard work. And she worked at it harder and better than anyone I know.”
“And that’s why you named me after her?”
“Yes. And to love her back. So that she knew I was hers, you were hers.”
“Didn’t she know that?”
“She knew that. I wanted her to know that I knew it, too.”
Mare frowns.
“When you have kids, Mare, you never really know what they’re going to be, but they’re your kids and your responsibility and you love them and care for them anyway.
“When you’re a stepkid you lose that sense of safety. Your parent is partnered to someone new, and you’re expected to love that person, and if you do or you don’t you’re betraying one parent or the other. And you’re always waiting for someone to throw you back if you don’t behave.
“Ducky was Dad’s stepmother. Technically — and I HATE this word — my stepgrandmother. But we never thought of it that way. She was my grandmother. When she married your Great-Grandad she took on his kid. And his kid’s kids, and their kids. Her standards were impossible, but on some level it didn’t matter because she’d love you the same whether you met them or not. All she really required was that we be polite. And she never once looked at us and said, ‘You’re a jerk, you must get it from that other woman,’” I laughed, and Mare laughed, too.
“Tell me a story of Ducky,” Mare says. She settles into her seat.
I think and then reach for a favorite. “Your Granddad — my Dad, that Grand Man – he was a very tough boy. He loved sports and he was very competitive and good at it. One sport he loved was hockey.”
“I play hockey!”
“Right. Well, this was a little different. This was a bunch of aggressive young men on skates going after each other with sticks. He tended goal, which meant sitting there getting pucks launched at his face all day long.
“I am quite sure Ducky hated it. Ducky did not approve of violence or aggression and in a lot of ways didn’t find men to be very sensible.
“So it confused Grandad that she showed up to the games. She never said anything, just sat there and watched.
“And then one day he was playing one of the biggest games of his career– I don’t know which one, but it was big. And this one guy — we’ll call him Jim Jones — he was Grandad’s defenseman and all season he was making work for Grandad, letting these pucks get by him and it was wearing Grandad out and he was really starting to get mad about it.
“So it’s the big game, and they’ve almost won, it’s down to the end … and Jim Jones lets another one go by. Last seconds of the game.
“And the next thing Granddad knows, he’s hunkered down, and the entire opposing squad is coming at him with sticks and the whole season hinges on his stopping that puck.
“Ladies didn’t shout at hockey games back then, Mare. And Ducky didn’t shout as a rule. And she did not swear. But she saw that squad go down toward her boy, and she stood up and screamed, ‘GOD DAMN YOU JIM JONES IF IT GETS PAST HIM IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT!’”
Mare grins. I know she is imagining the Ducky she knew — tiny, dignified, wrinkled — standing up and hollering like that.
“She knew the whole time? How important it was and what was going on?”
“Yep. She just showed up, shut her mouth, let him do his thing. She didn’t really approve, but she didn’t need to. He was hers and it mattered to him so she showed up.”
“Did Granddad stop the puck?”
“He did. And his squad won the game, and they carried Granddad off the ice on their shoulders, and she stood watching the whole thing in total bewilderment.”
Mare has enjoyed the story — her hero grandfather and great-heart namesake.
“She always asked after my other grandmothers,” I say quietly. “ And I knew it was because she wanted me to know there was no price of admission. I could and should love the other women who claimed me, and that wouldn’t make me any less hers.”
I feel a stark loneliness for her that has never really gone away, and I know now never will. A badge like the scars of childbirth.
“And I’m hers, too, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “You are hers. You would have been anyway, no matter what. But I think she had a lot to do with the mother you have, and I wanted her to know I would never forget, so I asked her permission and gave you her name.”
Mare considers this, with her crystal eyes and great big heart. I think how feelings are ephemeral, but true love is eternal — and only if you work at it.
I really hate it when the tears spring up on me like this….
Beautiful. Mare is such a wise girl.
I am bawling here. Because Ducky sounds so much like my Mom. I named my first-born after my Mom for the same reasons you named Mare after Ducky. You are so right about love and about who we belong do no matter how death tries to interrupt it.
You are one of the best writers and/or storytellers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.
lucky you. my late stepmother was the kind of person that keeps therapists in business and supplies the writers of fairy tales and teenage chick lit with all their best material.
Bawling, sniffling, thinking about how each child in my life needs to know there is never a price for admission. Thank you!
so beautiful, thanks for sharing to eloquently. that’s my grambie too, gearing up to lose her but enjoying the few moments i have.
Wow. That was an amazing post. All teary now and trying to not let my husband see!
I’m a new stepmom of two young boys aged 2 and 4. Sometimes (OK, most of the time) I long for stepmom role models, because even if I love my stepkids very dearly, I sometimes wonder (with anxiety): “Am I “allowed” to love them that much?” Of course, deep down I know it feels right. But I still dwell upon this.
This story is very inspiring. When I grow up, I want to be just like Ducky.
I’ll be sure to blog about this post. I feel very grateful that you wrote it.
Marâtre Joyeuse (Happy “wicked-stepmom”), Montréal
This is a BEAUTIFUL story. Thanks for sharing. I linked ya!
I can’t believe she said God Damn! That is hilarious.
But seriously, this was a beautiful post. A beautiful way to express families and relationships that have both separated and combined.
tears. so much inspiration. you’re amazing. thank you for sharing with us.
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you
..sigh!!.. *sob*…
You are one, smart lady. Thanks.
How is Eden?
Hi, Kimira — No updates on Eden. She has a weigh-in tomorrow and we are waiting on the blood panel. I’ll post more in a bit. Thanks for asking.
I hope she is well. I was thinking of her all weekend
YEAH! I think I can find my whole soul again if I can have my husband, a gin and tonic, a fancy restaurant, and clean sheet for a 24 hour period!
LOVE the way you did it and the fact that you did it; and, “yes” Eden is friggen cute!
Margaret
Oh, I am sitting here crying. I hope I love my family that way.
(I found my way here through Food Whore).