I’m going to break some of my unofficial blog rules today. My granddaughters impending visit to the farm, the first in several years, has triggered some unexpected issues and opportunities.

I don’t write much about death, and I never write or think about my legacy. Living in the now, I don’t look back much, and I rarely look ahead. I can’t change the past or predict the future.

I don’t think much about how I will be seen when I’m gone; I am a microscopic dot in the scheme of things; I am just not that important. I doubt anybody will care what I did here; there will be new and urgent things to worry about, including the planet’s survival.

My blog will be out there if anybody cares to look at it, but I have no illusions.

Life goes on. My therapist and I talked yesterday, as we do twice a month. Those talks are important to me.

She knows me better than anyone apart from Maria.

She awakened me – challenged me –  to think about some of the implications and opportunities of the visit. She was also of great help to me in understanding Emma’s pain and anger after my divorce from her mother, who she loves dearly.

My brush with Covid has reminded me that the day I leave, the life is getting closer, and I have very little to say about it.

I don’t expect to die soon, and I’m happy with my life, but there are so many things we have no control over, and at 75, one or two of those things is more and more likely to occur over time. Maria and I talk about this often  – I’m older than she is; we talk about it so that we can think about it and she will be better prepared for it.

There is nothing morbid about it; it is pretty loving.

Good health care and personal responsibility can matter, but life is life; we all die.

My hospice volunteer work taught me that people who think about death have much more peaceful, meaningful, and even more beautiful deaths than people who hide from it or deny it, which is almost everyone,  in most homes, in Hollywood, the music and cultural world, and the news media.

Peggy and I don’t talk much about death, I have enough issues in life to deal with,  so she surprised me by urging me to speak to my daughter Emma about the importance of the visit as I continue to deal with my health in the wake of Covid and other issues.

Yes, I’ll be fine, and yes, I’m lucky, and yes, lots of people have died and been stricken much worse than me. Still…

“You might mention to Emma,” Peggy said, “that Maria has much to offer Robin, especially when you are gone. You are closer to Maria than anyone else in your life; she can tell your story better than anyone, and Robin is likely to want to hear it. Maria is not looking to be anybody’s mother, but she can be a great gift to Robin when you are gone. Emma may know this, she is astute, but it might be worth thinking about.”

I was surprised and touched by Peggy’s comments and suggestions.

Next to Maria, Peggy knows me better than anyone in the world and has been instrumental in helping me heal and deal with my mental health problems and build a better and more meaningful life.

In a way, I was reborn in therapy 10 or 15 years ago; it was Peggy who guided me through it.

I trust her and listen to her, and there is only one other person I can say that about in my life.

Maria is sensitive to being a stepmother to Emma and a step-grandmother to Robin. She has never sought to replace Paula, my first wife, in Emma’s life or wanted to. Yet she has so much to offer; I’ve seen her with young people, and her empathy and sensitivity are what they pick up and respond to.

I believe Emma is open to Maria and me having a relationship with her and Robin. I never thought about what would happen when I was gone. That is up to them, not to me. Maria, Robin, and Emma are already planning Robin’s visit. That’s up to them, too; nothing forced ever works; it has to be natural and organic, and it has to come from them, not me.

All three women are independent and strong-willed, and none like to be pushed or manipulated. I respect that.

This new idea for me – seeing what Maria can offer my granddaughter as I age and eventually die – gives the weekend new meaning and purpose for me.

Maria is beginning to understand how much she has to offer people – young and old.

She is beginning to understand her value.

Because of our dreadful family experiences, Maria and I have learned to be guarded and build walls around ourselves. The irony is that we are each helping one another to break down these walls, which is doable, but easier said than done.

We’ve had a hard time believing we have something to offer others, even people close to us.

Emma is the last person I am close to and in touch with in my family. She is essential to me. I don’t know Robin all that well; she’ll have to decide if I am also important to her. I’m not a flavor that appeals to everybody; she has a life stock full of people, friends, and things she loves.

I’m not good on FaceTime, and the pandemic pushed us farther apart.

My childhood was quite different than hers – my grandmother and I were close, and she made a difference for me.

Emma has worked hard and purposely for us to get together again without my help. I appreciate that and am learning from it. Robin is at an age where we can really talk, and perhaps I have something to offer her.

I am looking forward to this visit, I don’t wish to push it or overthink it, but I am sensing it may have more meaning and importance than I thought.

The idea of these three remarkable women coming together for a weekend on the farm has caught my imagination.