By Linda Orleans 
In my younger years, I felt that my mom thought in mainly black and white ideals. People either behaved poorly or well, and nuances or deeper issues were not a significant part of the equation. Perhaps that was not my mother’s actual thought process, but it was my interpretation of how she judged at the time. That changed, though, when I became a mom and she became a grandma.
My mom flew in to see her beautiful newborn granddaughter the day I gave birth. She had the same prideful grin I had seen on her with my sister’s three kids. This was my firstborn and her fourth grandchild, born seemingly healthy with no developmental concerns. Typically developing children had become an unconscious expectation. We did not have a family history of anything different on either side. Why would that change?
Then, as our daughter was approaching the age of two years, my husband and I became concerned that she was no longer meeting milestones within the expected time frames. Several doctor and specialist appointments later, our daughter met the criteria for an autism spectrum diagnosis, which 20 years ago was far less discussed than now.
Since my mom lived across the country and Zoom was not yet in our orbit, she was not able to interact with our daughter regularly. During the three months since they had last spent time together, our daughter’s unmet milestones, and some new perplexing behaviors, became more noticeable. I was reluctant to discuss this with my mom, as the thought of telling her was too cumbersome on my already-spinning brain. However, when our circumstances became more clear, of course, I had to share it with her.
As my trembling fingers dialed my mom’s phone number, I squirmed on my sofa. I took some deep breaths, preparing myself for the probable response: Oh no, this is awful news. Why is this crisis happening? Can’t this be turned around with treatment and more discipline?
However, once I composed myself and said the words out loud, to my surprise and relief, I experienced none of those anticipated distressing reactions. Instead, I heard: She’s a wonderful, beautiful little girl. I’m proud of you and her. This must be challenging for you all. How can I help?
When I hung up the phone, I let out a long exhale and smiled. Now my mom was not only a grandmother, which had already given me the opportunity to see her as more open and accepting than I had remembered, but a grandmother of a little girl with special needs. There would be more uncharted challenges to face. Yet, to my delighted surprise, my mother did not perceive different and more difficult as a detriment or bleak. My mom’s comforting words at that moment would forever be cemented in my psyche, “I have limitless admiration and adoration for my gorgeous granddaughter and her parents.”
Shortly after that conversation, it was apparent that our daughter was also experiencing significant medical issues including debilitating colon and bowel complications. This led to a diagnosis of severe Crohn’s disease.
At this point, I felt no hesitation in sharing the news with my mom. In fact, I was eager to gain her support. Again, she responded with calm resolve, only asking how we were all doing and what she could do to help. Her visits to our home in Washington, DC became more frequent.
I saw even more changes in regard to my mom’s comments and actions. For example, I noticed that she did not mention the newly torn seat cushion that we hadn’t yet had a chance to fix—something that would have led to her disapproval and criticism in the past was no longer worth mentioning. I found myself again smiling with relief.
Since the time of our initial transformative conversation 20 years ago, the admiration, pride, and love my mom exudes toward her autistic and medically compromised granddaughter has never wavered. Not once.
She and her granddaughter look forward to spending time together, laughing, dancing, playing games, doing art projects, and other activities. Our daughter is minimally verbal and communicates much more through a typing device, which allows her to express herself articulately, so my mom patiently waits as her granddaughter types out each word, sentence, paragraph that she wants to say. Milwaukee, where her grandma lives, is now our daughter’s favorite place to visit. She thinks of her Nana’s house as her second home.
My mom, with whom I was once hesitant to discuss difficult personal issues, is now one of my closest confidantes. My previous fears of judgment have turned into confidence that whatever I or my sweet daughter present her with, will be met with acceptance and love. Additionally, I have become more mindful to continuously give the same back to my mom.
I have been fortunate to hold in my heart a valued treasure chest of joyous memories of my own grandmothers. While I had never doubted my mother’s love, dedication, and giving nature to her children, I had not yet seen her in the similar role of lighthearted grandmother that I equated with my grandmas. Until I became a mother and she became a grandma herself . . . then, I saw it clearly and brilliantly.
by Whitney Fleming 
by Jill Kakoske 
