Jennifer Shiloe Murphy Lowell was born in September 1976 in Mount Vernon, Washington, delivered naturally by Winnie Bradford. Her arrival was a family celebration: her brother Jason, sister Tonya, father Larry, grandmother Ann Marie and I were all there to welcome her. I had called her Shiloe throughout my pregnancy, but Larry chose Jennifer for her legal name, and Shiloe became the middle name we still cherish. The youngest of three, Jennifer always received a lot of attention and affection. She showed an early gift for creativity and organization, and those qualities have shaped her life as an artist and a devoted, capable mother.
When Jennifer was five, our family lived in Australia for a time, with Tonya seven and Jason ten. Those years opened the children’s eyes to how people in other countries live, and gave them memories of adventure and cultural learning that stayed with them. Back home, our family remained close to our Norwegian roots through Ann Marie and the Frodeson family, whose masonry work helped shape downtown Seattle in the 1940s and ’50s. Those connections rooted Jennifer in a sense of family and history.
Jennifer did well in school, graduated, and attended Western Washington University where she met Tom. They married and had two beautiful daughters, Olivia and Lilja. Jennifer worked for S.P.I.E., which allowed her to travel for business seminars and broaden her experiences. Life took an unimaginable turn when Tom developed ALS. His disease progressed quickly and he passed away far too young, leaving Jennifer to raise their girls alone. Through that devastating time she showed tremendous strength, resilience, and devotion to Olivia and Lilja, organizing their lives with the calm and creativity she has always had.
It is from this place of love and deep concern that I write about our relationship now. Over the last several years our connection has become strained. I have moved back to the Northwest to be closer to Jennifer and my granddaughters, hoping proximity would help heal distance. I have reached out repeatedly, always sending messages of love, offering support, wishing Jennifer and the girls the best, and making myself fully available for visits, holiday gatherings, or simply a phone call. I have always tried to be present: when they needed help, when there were celebrations, and in the hard times. Despite my efforts—traveling up to see them, offering an open door, and making myself available on short notice—Jennifer has struggled to arrange meetings and to connect over the last year.
I feel deeply that my desire to reconnect has become a source of tension between us. I don’t know exactly when or how small differences turned into distance, but disagreements over COVID precautions, masks, vaccinations and other issues have added barriers between us. These differences have made it harder for Jennifer to welcome my visits or to prioritize shared time, and while I respect her choices, the lack of connection with my granddaughters pains me profoundly. I long to watch them grow, to share simple moments and family traditions, and to offer the support and love a grandmother can give.
My life has also changed in ways that make reconnection even more urgent. I have recently made the difficult decision to leave my husband in a private-pay facility because his dementia and Parkinson’s disease are advanced; he no longer recognizes me and needs to be closer to his daughters for care. This has created significant emotional and financial strain. I am doing what I must for his safety and dignity, but it has left me feeling vulnerable and more in need of family closeness than ever.
I remain hopeful. My messages have always been and will continue to be filled with love and goodwill. I want nothing more than to rebuild our relationship slowly, to be a steady presence for Jennifer and for Olivia and Lilja, and to be included in their lives in whatever way they can accept. Family matters to me above all, and I keep holding on to the hope that time, patience, and love can bring us back together.
Leave a Reply