The Observed and The Observed Observer
My grandparents grew up in the 1940s, and while the world is wildly different, they have remained a constant for each other. Molded into distinct characters, they have also taken part in shaping one another for decades.
Born nine days apart, married at sixteen, now all they ever talk about is how all their friends are dead. This leads them to discuss which one of them will die first and how they want the estate handled, depending. Grandpa demands things be brought to him while he reclines in front of the television and Grandma serves him like she has done her entire life. The cycle continues…
Grandpa began working at six years old framing houses and earned the nickname “Smoke” by age eight, on account of all the cigarettes he could finish in a day. Grandma started cooking at age eight and would often pack up leftovers from her friends’ houses to take home to her grandmother, who was unable to care for herself. Grandpa had an alcoholic for a father, meaning he would often bear the brunt of whatever anger came home from the bar so that his mother wouldn’t have to. Grandma was rescued from digging in the dump for food everyday by my (adoptive) great grandma, and was grateful to be well cared for during her teenage years all the way until she was married. Grandpa joined the military at 16 (he told them he was 18) and proceeded to get into bar fights even after he got married (and even away from the bar). Grandma worked as a telephone operator and raised money for charity events as a member of a club comprised of her co-workers.
It’s amazing to see someone’s life in a moment. No justice really served for the overall experience, but the cliff notes are important when you are just getting started in adult-life. For instance, I can learn a lot about hard work from my grandpa. He still doesn’t like to sit all day because he used to wake up early to go hunt or work on a car. Grandma has always shared her love by cooking, and that’s a language everyone speaks. She also enjoys caring for people and takes great pride in the fact that her home has been a refuge to many of our family members and friends.
While Grandpa lived his life with guns drawn, he always knew my grandma would take care of him. He’ll often say that he worries Grandma will become depressed if he dies first because she’ll have nothing to take care of anymore, and part of me feels like this is kinda true. Grandma has an attachment to guilt which could just be natural because she is Catholic, but it does seem to be where this martyrdom stems from, if you ask me. It isn’t really the worst thing someone could want, (recognition for being selfless) but if it goes unnoticed, it can be a source of great despair or extreme exhaustion.
Grandma is concerned that Grandpa will lose his mind if she isn’t around. She is well aware of his codependency. Given his dementia, she really does help him to keep all his memories together. He asks her the names of people and places he’s long forgotten, and she provides the answer as though she can go to the exact same place in the thought realm in which he was searching. Interesting how she became the observer mind in their relationship, while Grandpa struggles like a headless body. It occurred to me that this may have always been a superpower traditionally attributed to women. Finding the calm in the unknown and the serenity in the surrender.
Faith gives my Grandma peace of mind. She knows she doesn’t choose the circumstances, while Grandpa always thought he did. As a man of the mid-century, Grandpa was conditioned to not commune with his spirit side. At this end-of-life stage, it turns out having achievements to look back on is great, but the ability to live for no other reason is the essence of life. Love, warmth, happiness, passion, fear, anger, complete despair all exist. We move through those feelings and our reaction on top of what we do with that determines how much suffering we endure (bearing in mind that even suffering will likely result in a life-changing lesson or two).
One of the lessons my thirty-year-old brain landed on is: reliance on another individual to provide some part of my identity that is missing, puts my freedom at risk. And yet, I do rely on some sort of other in order to have any reason to be anything at all. I find that the more I build that other entity out of people that make me feel good, the more joy I find in conversations and exchanges. What’s even better is when I can build that other entity out of just what exists when I sit with myself. I’ll do my best to allow those two perspectives to co-exist.
