Many, many thanks to those readers who sent such lovely messages of sympathy after my grandson’s death. It truly helped, more than I can say.
I miss that little boy. This surprises me, sometimes, given that I only knew him for a few days, and only as a tiny person at the center of an intricate web of life support and monitoring lines… To his mother, he had character right from the first perceptible wriggle, so it makes sense that she and her husband (my son) would long for him. I keep thinking that I am going to finish up and be done with grieving… (You’d think I’d know something about grief by now, wouldn’t you?)
There is much that is familiar about my longing: I want baby Drew to be here the same way I wanted (still want, really) his grandfather to be here—they are missing a good life, filled with an astonishing abundance of love.
When I am the chaplain, counseling the newly bereaved, I advise them: “If this loss brings you anything good, take it. Grab the blessing. You have to take the suffering either way, so don’t refuse the joy.” A lesson I re-learned, not as a chaplain but as a sad grandmother: The blessing is there, and it is—always— love.