My husband and I are on the threshold of becoming grandparents. Only in my dreams can I ask my grandmother all of my questions.

“You’re going to have a grandchild,” my elder stepson announced last summer.

The high pitch of my reaction — a squealing shriek — surprised even my own ears, and left people rubbing theirs. Then came hugging, and some tears.

Of course there were tears.

Suddenly, the much-anticipated “someday” joy of a grandchild was no longer off in the distance but coming soon: February.

My husband and I are on the threshold of a new stage of life, becoming grandparents and watching our kids grow into parenthood.

We are among a crew of this baby boy’s grandparents and great-grandparents eagerly awaiting his birth, ready to envelope him in love.

What an extraordinary experience to be a grandparent to a child. To have a shot, a responsibility to play a special role in a child feeling cherished and loved well throughout their life — even long after you’re gone.

Grandma Lessons

How does one learn and prepare for that? Especially someone like me, who was not a mom in the typical, biological way.

Only in my dreams can I ask “Sweetie Grandma,” my maternal grandmother, for help: How on earth could I possibly be the grandma you were to me?

My memories are a blur of warmth and sweetness, of feeling cherished and safe. A sense of exploring and imagining through quiet afternoons in the magical corners of the bungalow where my mom and her siblings grew up, my home away from home.

The comfort of my grandmother’s lap, rocking in her warm embrace as she sang a silly song about fish on the front porch of their house on Anthony Street. I wasn’t her favorite, just her first, and spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house as a kid.

Preparing to meet this baby has taken me right back to how it felt to grow up in those places. Just like other milestone times in my life, I can hear my grandmother’s voice: Laughing, singing, soothing and urging all 10 of her grandchildren onward.

All This is True

At 41, still hoping to have a child of my own, I met and fell in love with my husband and his two teenage sons, who became my stepsons and “our kids.” I am not their mom. Their mom loves them very much.

Yet, they are my kids. All this is true. Through no one’s fault, I missed knowing them as infants and toddlers and little boys. We figured it out. (Read A Squirrel on the Cutting Board ~ A Stepmom’s Tale of Making Food & Family and Rule Number One is Come Home Safe.)

Now, at 51, on the verge of becoming a grandma, I feel a deep peace and joy at the anticipation of rocking this baby.

“Granny” as some of my friends have said and giggled. Friends who are the moms of teenagers and older than I am. I get it. My sudden leap-frog through life stages has been a little mind-blowing. I just try to keep up.

None of which matters to this child, who will soon be here needing love and care. (And who, for the record, is welcome to call me whatever nice name he wants to.)

Be Ready with a Lap, Hug & Questions

So — to prepare over these last several months, I’ve sought out “Grandma Lessons.” As always, I’ve leaned heavily on my mom. You’ll know, she says.

With new eyes, I’ve studied my mom and mother-in-law with the little kids at our family events. They always have a lap and hug ready and ask a lot of questions — sometimes challenging ones to spark a child’s imagination. And they are always delighted by the answers.

Last December, I watched my mother-in-law decorate Christmas cookies with her three youngest grandchildren. She’s very organized and simplified the baking. I’m nervous about this part.

Are we ready? Do we need gear? Maybe one of those “Pack ‘n Play” setups would be good? A stroller?

I’ve asked my nephew, 9, and niece, 6, for advice about being a good grandparent.

Take care of them, said my nephew. Play with them, said my niece.

Ahhh …. The watchful, sweet adult, elder playmate. Got it.

My niece also thinks I have too much stuff outside in the back veggie garden and sitting area. I should really think about cleaning up out there, she advises.

OK. Maybe.

All great, confidence-boosting examples and advice.

What Would “Sweetie-Grandma” do?

For Sweetie-Grandma’s advice, I’ve turned to memories and pictures.

One of my favorite images is from August 18, 1945. She is wearing her U.S. Army-issued dark skirt, light long-sleeve blouse with a pointed collar, round dark sunglasses, hat and sensible shoes, walking between two other women in identical uniforms down a sidewalk in Marseilles, France.

She is looking straight ahead, ignoring the camera. She is cool and confident, looking fearless, her whole life ahead of her, ready to serve, ready for an adventure.

Magdalene grew up in a little house across from a big stone church, St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, at the base of Bear Mountain, rising beside the Lehigh River in northeast Pennsylvania. Her family lived in East Mauch Chunk, the working class, immigrant part of this coal, railroad and tourist town, now reinvented as Jim Thorpe.

She left the hardscrabble place for nursing school and to join the Red Cross.

She served as an Army nurse in World War II, and met my grandfather. They married and settled in Cleveland, where they raised four children, including my mom then 10 grandchildren.

She was generous and gracious, a maternity nurse who worked nights, a devout woman of unshakable Catholic faith, hard worker and the wife of a hard-working public servant and politician.

Her Hands, Always

I can clearly hear the bright music of her laugh. Her voice. Even, later, as I came of age and questioned Catholicism, the sound of her quieting her own disapproval during thorny, honest and complicated conversations about faith and God.

Her hands. Always her hands, peeling apples or dredging pork chops through flour, eggs and breadcrumbs for supper. Her hands pushing fuzzy blue velour fabric through her sewing machine, making clothes in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

As she stitched, she’d call out to me not to be nosy as I poked around the boxes in an attic closet, sure of the magical treasures to be found there. Her hands clicking her knitting needles as we watched M*A*S*H or Emergency together on television.

Never miss a love story! Receive each week’s story by email.

Singing with the Fishes

She sang about “three little fishes and the mama fishy too” all swimming in a pool until the mama tells her babies to “SWIM! Swim as fast as you can! And they swam and they swam all over the dam.”

In my 20s, I repeatedly had trouble remembering the words and would call her for reminders. The day after she died, nearly 27 years ago, distraught with grief and making my way home, I asked for a sign that she was OK — and soon heard her singing every word of the silly fish song as clearly as if she was beside me at the airport.

You may recall the chorus?

“Boom, boom, diddum datum whaddum SHOO!
Boom, boom diddum datum whaddum SHOO!
Boom, boom diddum datum whaddum SHOO!
And they swam and they swam all over the dam.”

She would always give us an extra squeeze on the SHOO! She forever urges me forward into life’s next adventure. She honored what I needed most growing up, and still inspires and guides me.

The Truest Joy

Magdalene’s rocking chair is now in the warmth and light of our living room, in front of the window view of the gorgeous white Presbyterian Church, and awaiting its new mission to rock and soothe our grandson.

A good start.

And — what I’ve realized in recalling my grandmother’s bravery and zest for life: We will learn from our grandchild what he most needs from us to feel loved and cherished.

He may not want to sit still long enough to reach the chorus of the fishy song with its extra squeeze. He may not like being squeezed at all. Maybe he’ll be into making mudpies outside, or building with blocks.

Given his athletic, competitive parents, I bet he’ll love playing catch and playing games. To play with him, I’ll need to learn a lot of new things.

So that must be the joy, the truest adventure of being a grandparent — he will teach us all we need to know.