A Tender Touch

I always visualized living near my children, just around the corner. I saw our home as a sanctuary for our grandkids. Our door would swing open, letting in the fresh air of youth and exuberance. I would drop whatever I was doing to shower them with love and attention. Spoil them rotten. It would be a place for them to escape their parents, and a reprieve for their parents for a few moments of peace. Life doesn't follow my wishes. I live more than 2500 miles from my loved ones. I visit once or twice a year. I fear they won't remember me, or feel the closeness I desire. This past Fall, I visited them for a glorious week of Autumn color. My daughter and the kids came to Syracuse to pick me up at the airport. Due to the late hour of my arrival, the kids stayed in the hotel while Carrie picked me up. Back in the hotel, I crawled into bed with my daughter and the littlest grandson. He stirred in his sleep and she reassured him that she was back. She added, "Gubba's here." He rolled and stretched toward me, reached up so tenderly and touched my face. It's been a team effort staying close. I guess we've managed.