Friday, August 22


Five too short years ago yesterday,
my grand
daughter, Abbie, was born. I had the honor of watching her make a grand entrance into the world. She had trouble breathing, as some new babies do, and I remember hanging suspended in a moment of fear as a debate ensued between two doctors over whether or not she should be whisked away to the NICU.

I stood in the middle of the room with Abbie on my right in an open isolette. Doctors and nurses hovered over her.

My daughter was on my left, hemorrhaging and the object of much concern.

Many hours earlier, I had walked into the room with only one person to be concerned about. Suddenly, I found my devotion split between two distinct individuals, both of whom I loved fiercely and both of whom I wanted to protect with a passion.

Fortunately, prayers were answered and Abbie began to breathe on her own. It took awhile longer for my daughter's condition to stabilize. But almost as quick as the crisis had begun, it was resolved. I got to hold my new granddaughter in my arms, and stroke my daugther's forehead realizing yet again how very much she meant to me.

Yesterday, Abbie took us to the local bowling alley. We all realized--mainly me--that bowling was not our forte--except for grandpa who bowled his best game in years--but it was fun to watch Abbie run admid pink balloons and pink crepe paper streamers.

I looked at Abbie, then at her mother, then at my new granddaugther, Jennah, and smiled, heart full of gratitude.

It was a wonderful day.

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