Dear Nicole,

Maybe it was late in November, 1970 when your father stuck his face in my bedroom door after I had come home from work one night at about two a.m. As I look back now, his face had to be boyish, but at that time, it was Jay . It was now two years that I had been free of any mind-altering substances, so when he announced that he was going to be a father and I a grandmother, I took this news that came in the wee hours of the morning with the grace of a sober lady, and said, "Well Jay, we'll talk about this in the morning." Let me tell you, my dear granddaughter, he was very disappointed. That kind of news was good for an all-nighter, but my after-care program to stay clean and sober dictated to me to sleep now, talk later. Well, your Mom worked in the same restaurant I did, so as the months went by, of course the anxiety was building up. Now, as I remember, you were due in May or early June . All my children went the full nine moons, so I took it for granted that you would take the same time to arrive here on planet Earth. The story goes, to the best of my memory, that Jay took your Mom on a picnic in Barrington called RISD Farm. Surely it must have been a warm day, not like this cold April we are having. It was a Saturday afternoon, this I am sure of. Whether Jay called, or just how I heard is unclear, but the word was out that while they were playing frisbee your Mom's water broke. Your Mom and Dad were young, and this was a first for them, but they came quickly to the decision that the picnic was over. Like a knight of old, your father lifted your Mom up, and carried her to the nearest farm house to call for directions. On the next step in this new experience, your father was advised to take your Mom home and put her to bed with her legs elevated. Jay had lots of experience with crises, his skills were sharpened often by my addiction, and this doctor's advice did not sound right. He called the hospital again hoping to get another doctor, but no luck, the same doctor repeated, "Take her home, elevate her legs," and assured your Dad no baby would be born for a couple of days. Driving into Providence, he found himself at a crossroads: should he follow the directions given to him by this doctor or head straight for the hospital? I feel that it was you giving the orders, your safe lining in your Mom's womb had been broken, and it was your vibes that turned the wheels of the car. Not to mention, you were anxious to show the two of them how to play frisbee. I went to work as usual, thinking that this was a false alarm. Saturday nights at work back then were crazy. We would have an early hit that required all the attention I could muster up. You see, people would have a fews drinks in the lounge where I worked, waiting for their names to be called out for dinner. They would be hungry, so when they heard their name called, I was history to them. And if I didn't keep my mind on my work, they would be seated in the restaurant and I would be left not only without a tip, but with their unpaid check. There was no escaping the hype of those hours that Saturday night. The hostess must have called the hospital every five minutes. I'll be honest with you, Nicole, I had to detach from all the hoopla for I feared for my sanity. When I first stopped drinking, I wondered how I would handle things like this without picking up. Mostly I hadn't a clue of what or how one was supposed to feel or act on becoming a Grandmother. Without any dress rehearsal, at about eight o'clock that night, April 24, 1971, with my room full to capacity with customers, came the news that you had arrived, sounding to me like it came over the loud speakers system. I was thirty-eight years old and wearing a mini skirt. I may have looked like a Barbie doll in that crowded, hyped-up room. The customers started to say, "Who? Who is a Grandmother?" She is! those very excited hostesses were telling everyone. I can't seem to remember just what feelings stood out more than the others, I only knew that I had to get out of there as fast as I could before I hyperventilated. Somehow I got to the safety of the ladies room where I could have a quiet chat with my higher power, and take a look in the mirror to see if I changed any. I hadn't changed any, and my higher power told me that I was still alcoholic, so get back out there and take your bows, and if you must drink, a glass of water would do just fine. Following those instructions, I came out of that safe place a Grandmother, a role that still has no guidelines for me. I still don't have a clue of what you do when your Granddaughter turns eighteen, now a women herself, except to share some of my life experiences with her, and to tell you I love you, in my private way, woman to woman. Happy Birthday Nicole, Your Grandmother Ruthie

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney April,24 1989