This is #3 in a series of short essays on aging.

Near the shoreline, you discover a subtly different life. Not only are you more aware of limits. A new set of characters appears. Old friends are still your old friends, but other people emerge to become, frankly, more important to you.

I have three grown children, all in their late thirties or early forties. They all have children, so I have seven grandchildren, ages 1 to 8. I love them far more deeply, far more viscerally, than my friends.

And they love me, I’m very sure. But not in the same way.

Relationships with children are asymmetrical. As parents, we think about them constantly. Our children do not think so much about us. They are far too concerned with their own lives. Jobs, education, child-rearing, entertainment, recreation, friendships—these all matter tremendously. Their parents aren’t a primary focus, nor do we want to be. I want my children to live large and thrive, and by that I don’t mean constantly doting on their parents. They’ll never think that their relationship with me is the primary meaning of their lives. They shouldn’t. It’s true, however, that they become more and more the meaning of my life, as I grow older.

Grandchildren? Multiply those feelings by three. When we had babies of our own, we were swamped by the stress and exhaustion of parenting. Now we have time to delight in our grandchildren. And we do. The love we feel can be almost overwhelming.

The grandchildren usually delight in their grandparents as well. However, when they reach fourth grade or so they generally begin to lose interest. They no longer want to sit in anyone’s lap. They don’t need you to read stories to them. You are no longer a very interesting playmate. They may adore their grandparents, but they have no insight whatsoever into what makes them tick. And are they curious? Not very much. Instead of growing more aware of us as they grow older, usually they find us less interesting. The four-year-old who ran into our arms may not, at fourteen, come out of his bedroom to say hello.

How do I know? I remember. I recall the stupefying boredom of listening to grandparent conversations around the dining table. I remember overhearing an adult conversation about rose bushes and wondering to myself, What are they talking about? Not until you get older do you begin to think of your parents and grandparents as interesting human beings. Not until you are much older do you care how Aunt Jane ended up in Kansas City.

I used to listen to my mom talk endlessly about cousins and uncle and aunts. She had a way of diving into her pile of memories without explaining who they were or why they mattered. Or if she did explain, I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t interested in all these names of people I never knew, many of them dead. To my mother, they were very much alive.

Now that I’m old, I wish I had listened more carefully. That’s my family she was telling me about. Listening was, at the least, a chance to know and love my mom more deeply.

If grandparents are wise, they back off when the lack of reciprocity kicks in. But not all grandparents are wise. Sometimes they make attempts at intimacy that aren’t welcome. Sometimes they try to buy love with expensive presents and promises of trips. It’s not wrong to lavish gifts on your grandchildren. But even little children sense when it’s ultimately manipulative. If every present has a hidden quid quo pro, the relationship will sour, sooner or later. You really don’t want to feel that you have to keep giving bigger and better presents or your grandchildren won’t care for you. That is the opposite of the love you long for, which is free and spontaneous.

I’ve seen parents pressure children to prioritize family over friends, jobs, interests. They say the family always comes first. Such parents may nag at their adult children, wishing for returns on their almost helpless love. Sooner or later, the children get sick of it. They have their own lives to live.

As parents age and lose so much of what has made up their lives (work, travel, activities, friends), it can seem reasonable to them that their children should call every day, eat every Sunday dinner at their home, listen carefully to their sage counsel and eagerly share their innermost thoughts. To the children, this often seems suffocating. They may comply but not happily. Disappointed parents squeeze harder, longing for more and better contact.

The mismatch is so common comedians can count on people laughing at it, usually at the expense of an overbearing mother. Think of the many, many Jewish mother jokes. It’s not all that funny, though, when parents are lonely and adrift, longing for reassurance that their children care about them.

We, the parents, have the experience and wisdom to understand this situation and correct our behavior. We can find the correct balance: giving our kids space to live their own lives, but also reminding them that there are tremendous benefits to honoring your parents. A good balance has to start with our ability to back off, curb our emotions, and allow our children space to find for themselves how much they love their parents. They will, sooner or later, if we have loved them well.

The children’s lives exist independently of their parents (and certainly their grandparents). It’s not so true of the parents. Our lives are deeply invested in our children’s, and their success and failure, their joy or grief, their hopes and fears, become ours.

I doubt anything defines our well-being in old age more than this. The imperative of loving and being loved in our family lies deep in our souls. It only grows as other parts of our world shrink. Our children and grandchildren become the most important influences in our lives.

As older people we must learn from God. His relationship is asymmetrical with all his created beings. He loves us infinitely; we respond inadequately. And does he nag us with demands? He gives us space. He finds the balance between letting us choose for ourselves and urging us to approach him with love and adoration.

God is our role model. We should act with the freedom and pleasure of God in his creation. Like God we should offer ourselves lovingly and graciously. But like God we should not try too hard. We should leave our loved ones in freedom. Thus when they choose to love in return, it will be wholehearted and unconstrained.

It’s a strange paradox: We must love with all our hearts yet let our love go free. When friends and co-workers held first place in our affections, there was no such thing as “too much.” This new crowd sneaks into our hearts, however, requiring a large dose of freedom.

That is life near the coastline. We don’t know where we’ll meet our limit, we only know that it is not too far off. And with our loved ones, we love knowing that we must say good-bye. These loves are not forever. Our children and grandchildren will carry on without us, when we are just a memory.