Having been released from rehab, still recovering from Guillian Beret’s paralysis and destruction of my peripheral nerves, my one month old grandson sat in my lap every morning.
It was all I could do physically for a while. It gave Brighton a secure, elevated place to get acquainted with his two loud siblings.
In the midst of this delicate dance, I became male caregiver.
Our communication can be expressed in a glance, a look, a feeling, a grin or joyous laughter.
It is called attachment in its purest form.
Buddhists describe a parents love for a child as close to real happiness as a lay person experiences.
This bond endures and dominates all other desires I covet.
He is special in a way I can not describe with words.
Thoughts or words had nothing to do with its inception or present existence.
I can feel his presence without visual input, sense his security and safety without thought, instantly.
In a crisis late one evening in the emergency room, Doctors lectured us how we misread him being in danger.
They informed us he was fine, maybe five per cent dehydrated.
We over reacted.
I voiced my concern that they were completely off, he was severely dehydrated and his life force was compromised.
They kind of laughed at this grandpa, till labs came back.
Within the hour, we were in ICU.
I can feel his life force.