I get misty…

Dear Grandchildren,

I was picking raspberries this morning with memories of you.  I hear your excited cries at the mention of the garden.  I see sweet stubby fingers reaching for berries, or hands cupped in readiness for me to drop them in.  Your puffy red lips sucked the ripe fruit as quickly as it reached your hands.

It made me nostalgic for the times that you were ready, available and thrilled to spend time with such simple pleasures.

Yes, I love the present.  When I hear the deep voice on the phone and realize it is you, my grandson, I get a thrill of pleasure for the man you are becoming.  When I go to lunch with you, my granddaughter, as we linger over the jewelry counter and talk about relationships and life, I revel in being a part of yours.  When I go to your games, listen to you sing, watch you bike or hear about your job, I sit with the privilege of sharing time with you.

There’s still nostalgia…for the simple times: when I thought you would always want to cuddle up and hear stories; or play happily on the floor near me; or leap into my arms when the neighbor’s dog barked as we walked down the road.  I was cherishing each moment without realizing that the moments would pass.

Maybe I planted raspberries, blueberries and strawberries at this house hoping for a moment in time to return, even though most of your “berry” memories would now center on reaching into a plastic container for handfuls of fruit.

I wouldn’t trade a moment of your lives, and I’m glad I’ll never pick raspberries alone.  Memories of you will always be with me.

xxoo

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