I am that grandmother, the one who wants the younger generation to stay close to each other. I’m that grandmother who keeps track and gets excited when the grandchildren play nicely with every one of their cousins.

Yep, that’s me. I’m that one who craves lots of family gatherings where all the cousins show up on time, stay a long time, and enjoy a grand old time. You know the type.

In spite of promises to myself that I’d never behave in that old-fashioned, pressuring way, I admit, that’s exactly what I am doing.

In a childhood memory I’m nine years old, sitting near my own grandmother on the living room couch, and asking her to “tell me stories about when you were a little girl, Grandma.” My grandma recounts how as an only child, she found solace in playing with her cousins.

Then she moves on to fun stories of her own children — my father and my aunt playing with their cousins — building sand castles on the beach in Knokke, a seaside town not far from their home in Antwerp, in the 1930s.

I loved those stories.

After a short segue to the topic of her gratitude for her many grandchildren, she follows with the “cousins questions.”

Do I play with this cousin my age? Does my sister get on with that cousin her age? Does my brother hang out with the second-cousin who is the child of Cousin So-and-So?

We – my siblings and I — either answer with the obligatory “Yes, yes,” or hedge with the noncommittal “Well uh, not so much.”

Because sometimes this or that cousin lived too far away, and the other one was into his or her own stuff. And my grandma, who certainly understood the psychology behind it, would shrug as if to say, “No pressure, children…”

Then she’d sigh and say a prayer that in the end everyone staye close.

As a grandmother. I know that I shouldn’t have too high expectations of the adult kids and our grandchildren because, you know… Pressure.

But sometimes those grandmotherly longings that must be in my genes seep down into my psyche, and that’s when I become “that” grandmother, — the one who forgets that although it may seem easier for kids to communicate these days via email and inexpensive long distance rates, the children’s mindset and their need for individuality haven’t changed.

I’m that one who means well, but doesn’t quite get it; the one who asks the questions, who expects, who feels sad if everything is not always that Norman Rockwell picture, with all the kids playing together.

The one who doesn’t always realize that although we want our kids to open their schedules for every family event, it’s not always practical or possible.

Life gets in the way and our adult kids – along with their children — have their own agendas and lives.

It sounds crazy as I write this but I worry that the family thread is loosening and threatening, G-d forbid, to break away entirely if the family is not well-represented at a wedding, party or other family gathering. That’s when I reconcile my grandmother’s philosophies from our many talks about family values with my own insights about not forcing things.

Togetherness cannot be forced. Yes, I can prepare those barbecues, invite the whole crew and make it fun to be there. But at the end of the day, the fireworks of forced feelings will burst into tiny particles if our children, who are adults, are given the third-degree when they don’t come or when they come late. The next time, they may choose not to attend.

I carefully let go of the fantasy of the perfect family gathering that is complete. And I start to notice the warm times, shared more naturally and sporadically.

I receive an email with a photo of several of my sons and daughters-in-law eating lunch together at one of their homes or at a local pizza store. I appreciate the proof that they are enjoying. For a minute I imagine their giggly pre-picture-taking conversation, “Oh, let’s take a picture and send to Mommy; she’ll be so thrilled that we are together.”

I am excited when my sons meet a distant second- or third-cousin in camp or yeshivah and play their own brand of Jewish geography: “Ma, I met someone at camp and we figured out we are related.”

All those cousins who weren’t into the same hobbies as kids are now extremely close, keeping up – through email and phone calls – just as my grandmother told me she kept up through long letters with her adult cousins in other countries.

I stay in touch with my relatives by wishing mazel tovs before weddings or bar mitzvahs. And with an email group for the cousins filled with articles, links, photos and banter, we remain close to our roots. Whether through a phone or email conversation, or sitting together at an occasion, we cousins stick together.

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I’m opening response cards to an invitation for a recent simchah: “Can’t come, will be there in spirit. Mazel Tov!” While enjoying reading the note, I get a call from my son that he and his family can’t make it for Yom Tov this year. I take a deep breath and let go of my control over this issue.

It’s Friday night and I see my young daughters-in-law schmoozing in the corner of the living room. Off to the side, the nine-year-old cousins play a game of chess. Another child picks up a ball and as he gets ready to throw it across the room in a game of catch with his cousin, I remind myself of something.

Nothing in our house is breakable – not the pictures on the wall nor the family togetherness. I’m still that grandmother, but this time I’m grateful and relaxed.

This article appeared in Binah Magazine May 2017