My Grandson, the Old Man

I downloaded videos of my grandboy tonight. He is such a little beauty. Since my sister died, I've had an keen sense of the real possibility of tragedy in life. I've worried. I used to look at my son, my very special boy, and cringe that God might take that brown-eyed wonder from me as S/He did Michael's Aunt Lisa. Funny, but the boy went off to college and I eventually stopped worrying so much. By the time he married Jen, I'd pretty much stopped worrying about him altogether.

Now, I've got a new worry. His name is Brendan and he's just over 7 weeks old.



I look at him like a nurse now, like a clinician. Is his head too large? Should his eyes roll around as much as they do? Is everything okay? The real nurse inside me knows he looks fine, that the grandmother nurse is simply overreacting. The real nurse in me would like to bitch-slap the grandmother nurse in me across the room. It's funny how you cease being a professional when it's your child or kin.

I was glad I was able to bring my skills to bear at my father's bedside while he was in hospice but it was his daughter who cleaned his bottom and made him comfortable. His daughter just happened to know a whole lot about pathophysiology and comfort measures. Having that knowledge and using it to minister to my dad was important to me. It was my gift to Dad.

Now, I look into the deep brown eyes of my grandchild and worry that he worries too much. His brow is furrowed. At 7 weeks, he is careworn. His eyes seem to hold a lifetime of concern. He seems an old man at two months of age. Why do you worry so much, Little One? You have nothing to fear. Grandma can do all the worrying that needs doing for us both.

P. S. I did not do those sorts of things with Michael's face when he was a baby. Well, maybe the mouth thing because it's just so damned cute, but not the nose and cheeks! Bad Daddy!

; )

Technorati tags: life / middle-age / self-awareness