I see me and you sitting on a park bench somewhere.
Might be in New Hampshire, Vermont or Maine.
Maybe even on the West Dennis Beach.
We’re just sitting. Me and you covered in a flannel grey world; our lives now gone silver.
I’m still in love with you and you with me because that’s what we signed up for. And we’re still signed up.
We’ll talk about the many days gone by and people we love that are no longer here and you’ll cry. And I’ll cry.
But they’re happy tears of the stuff that we got right, the things we always agreed on and as a ‘Mom and Dad’.
Time has a way of making you look at things from a different perspective.
And God only knows that we have perspective these days.
While we sit, I lean over and smell your hair in a flirty and funny way and say ‘gee, your hair smells terrific‘ because it does.
And I know that deep down you like that I notice anything about you at this point in our lives.
Truth is, I still do.
In my mind, it’s fall and the leaves are raining down in sheets of tangerine orange, copper brown, apple reds and
You mention that we have some raking to do and I nod in agreement.
It’s in that moment that I feel something in my heart, a bittersweet knowing about our life story and the enormity of all things we’ve shared and endured.
It’s also in that moment that I realize that there’s no one else in my life that I could ever love more than you.
And I also realize how much I hate raking leaves.
ps. wrote this about a year ago. Just found it tonight.
pps. this post was inspired by my daughter, Sarah
*I found this post in my queue from a few baby steps/years back
When I became a grandfather I knew that my life as I knew it would change;
nothing drastic as in a ‘we need a bigger house’ way, but in smaller and somewhat expected ways.
And my life has changed.
My living room now has toys galore, kids books, a ‘Little Tikes’ a maniacal cow with a head that lifts up where you put coloured balls in to make the cow go ‘mooooo’ as it plays a crazy version of ‘The Farmer in the Dell’.
What the hell is a ‘dell’ anyway? (Adele? I know who she is)
I’ve fallen deeply in love with this little cupcake and she doesn’t even speak yet.
She does make some wonderful (and weird) sounds these days and I’ve proudly introduced her to the raspberry.
On occasion, she does that quite well.
And I am impressed.
Although I did hope for a bit less raspberry drool. (We call her ‘Droolia’)
And she loves when I do my impression of the Swedish Chef from Sesame Street, with his ‘Boort, boort, boort’ signature voice.
She crinkles her face and she quite simply melts my heart.
I was watching her sleeping on Father’s Day (in her stroller) and wondered if maybe she could change the world someday.
Maybe I’ll never know.
Funny thing is is that babies grow up to be daughters and sons and sometimes they surprise you.
I’ve been surprised (or not so surprised) three times now.
(Fast Forward 2 years)
I went to take Meryl (pictured above) home after watching her for an afternoon.
She no sooner gets buckled up in her car seat when she says, “Hey, Papa, how about some music?” I oblige and smile, knowing that my granddaughter is slowly growing up.
I put on Sara Bareilles “King of Anything” and she starts bopping her head.
It’s all good. For now, anyway. And her taste in music is pretty cool.
(Rewind 5 months)
It’s Christmas Day and I’m watching football with the boys (Jonathan, Aaron and Yukon).
There’s one present left to open for the ‘already’ grandparents and I don’t even notice the opening.
I hear a happy scream (is that possible?) and ultimately find out that I’m going to be a “Papa V.2”. (long story)
AND as it turns out, it’s going to be another little girl. I’m surrounded by women and truth be told, I love it. I love cooking for them, writing songs for them and watching them grow into incredibly wonderful and intensely caring people.
My daughters are amazing.
With another granddaughter on the way, I’m wondering if I have enough love to give to another little girl. Truth is that my heart will always have room for more.
But for now, the current love of my life is below.
Meryl Grace . . .