I woke up feeling very sad this morning. It had something to do with a dream I had but couldn't recall. As I got up and wandered into the kitchen, I thought of my grandchildren who would be waiting for me to show up for a visit, today. One has his problems, and the other is so happy that I worry about the day when starts walking, because that seems to be the time when a dark cloud forms over most families and we begin to see the bad cards we've been dealt. I feel like stopping the clock for them so they can go on living as they are, forever - innocent and happy most of the time. Most of all, free of illness and pain.
Or is it that I woke up thinking, "Oh, Hell! I really AM sixty-one and a half years old!" (half a year matters to me.) But how can I complain when 4 years ago, after my sudden cardiac death, life was given back to me? Maybe I complain because I've become a bystander who watches the parade of life go by, but I feel that I'm no longer a part of it.
Well, in a little while, I'll be on the floor with my 4 year old 'Little Big Guy', who loves to wrestle with me and jump in the air and land on my big belly. Yeah, it hurts; but seeing the smile on his face is worth the pounding. And then there's the younger one, 16 months and trying to walk on his own, and looking so proud of himself. Then he climbs up on Grandpa and messes up my TV watching by pushing every freaking button on the remote! Later, he may take a nap on my shoulder and I won't be allowed to move or even cough for an hour or so, so that he can get his rest before starting in on me again.
I just don't know if I am feeling sad because I'm getter older, or because they are. For now, they're caught in a vicious, inconsiderate game of life. And as much as I want to rescue them from it, I also want them to live it - but with never a tear in their eyes.
