Fall 2024

T ears still flow regularly which alarms me at times, but it probably shouldn’t. Each drop is evi- dence of how much I adored my mom, Mary Lou. She was a fantastic mother and outstanding grandmoth- er. It’s been four years since she shape-shifted from my red-head- ed, hilarious, best friend on earth to the “beyond,” now looking over me from small urns placed in strategic locations. She doesn’t send me signs, but if I stretch my imagination, I can force myself to believe that the red dragonflies I see on occasion are her, just popping in to say hello. She’s surely in heaven if it exists. My daughter Morgan will have her first child in the fall of 2024.We cried with surprise, then joy, when she found out she was pregnant earlier this year. After expressing my excite- ment, I snuck into the bathroom to let out some heavier tears—bawling, chest heaving crying. How is it possible that my mom won’t know her granddaughter? I thought. Then it hit me: I will be the grandmother. Me. Not my mom. My mom had me at the age of 19. Life was surely a struggle at times. She worked full-time 25-miles from home as an appliance saleswoman, wrangling two kids—my brother and me—and not having much spare time for the coddling and attention I so craved. She was the "cool mom,” the pretty mom, the young mom. A bit reserved, mysterious.The calm cat to my scurrying squirrel hyper-ness. I was so proud that she was my mom, but my defensive young mind pushed her away in some weird psychologically protective move. Many thoughts began with, “I’ll never (fill in the blank) like my mom!” In my 20s—when I actually let her love me—our relationship flour- ished. I was out in the real world, experiencing how hard it was to take care of myself, let alone a family, and realized how dif- ficult it must have been for her. Mary Lou lit up every room, dance floor and comment sec- tion on her beloved Facebook. When I had my own child, it unlocked something deeper in her—a chance for a do-over as a mature, nurturing woman instead of a scared, uncertain teenager. She was then in her early 50s, still looking after my elderly grandmother full-time, but also became a second mother to my daughter. She was a junk-food-toting, swing- pushing, all-around gramma goddess. When my “former life” entailed constant globetrotting and wild commitments, she traveled everywhere with us, proudly calling herself “The Granny Nanny.” Once, on a vacation, my then-husband called me over, choked up. “Not many grandmothers go down the pool slide over and over with their grand kids like your mom does. Morgan is damn lucky.” She was.We all were. My mom didn’t age. She didn’t nag—she suggested. She observed and offered her opinion only upon request. But she kept her angst inside, and I’ve often wondered if it exacerbated the cancer that took her life in August of 2020. For many of us, life gets better in our 40s and 50s.The kids are grown or close to it. Maybe work hours lessen, or retire- ment is on the horizon. We tighten our friendship circles and realize it’s okay to speak our minds clearly. That a few extra pounds have nothing to do with our character. It’s solidified that our parents were right in so many aspects. And then it creeps in: While still helping our children as they navigate the world, the health of one or both parents begins to falter. We find ourselves straddling the love and care of our children with the love and care of mom and/or dad. Social scientists call peo- ple from ages 40 to 59 the “Sandwich Generation,” the Atlases between aging parents and kids.We endure it, the overexten- sion, the worry, the agony of loss.Then, voilà, if we’re lucky, we become grandparents. So many people ensure that the sweet- ness of being a “grand” smothers some of life’s heartaches, like honey on a sore throat. I wish my mom were here with us, more than anything. She’d surely be a legendary great-grandmother. I know she’d go down the pool slide with the new baby. I know that this soon-to-be-born grandchild of mine would likely have pre- ferred her to me! But soon, when I question what to do or how to be, the answer will be: I’ll be just like my mom. Dina Ruiz is a former news anchor at KSBW TV, past host of “Candid Camera” and has starred on a reality show on the E! Network. She is a writer, editor and yogini. She resides on the Monterey Peninsula. BEHIND THE SPOTLIGHT D I N A R U I Z I wish my mom were here with us, more than anything. She’d surely be a legendary great-grandmother. Missing My Mom 52 C A R M E L M A G A Z I N E • F A L L 2 0 2 4