Copyright © 2019
by Ralph F. Couey
For someone neck-deep into the later years of life, there is usually a kind of mundane sameness to each day. We have our routines, constructed around the things we have to do along with a little time for what we like to do. Day after day, the calendar ticks along, the days passing all too quickly, like posts flashing past the windows of a speeding car. There is a kind of grayness to that existence. Then, one day grandchildren show up.
They burst into the house, bringing a most wonderful noise with them. They smile big, and come at you with arms wide, ready for that first great big hug. They're all full of news about where they've been, what they've been doing...little lives full of really big things.
The first thing you notice is that they grow. Rapidly. Too rapidly. They're taller, their speech more sophisticated. For the older ones, you begin to see the beginnings of that descent into madness we have come to know...and remember...as adolescence. But it's all new stuff wrapped up into special lives that you know you can never live without. One of the wonderful things that I've come to realize is to recognize that these are lives for whom the story has yet to be written. I have to admit that there are days when I feel tired and used up. But spending even a few minutes with my grandchildren, I realize that there is still so much life yet to be lived.
You see, because of my long perspective, I see a world where people choose to divide themselves based on blind obeisance to party politics. I see a world where violent crime and senseless acts become more common. I see a world spiraling down into some kind of suicidal black hole. But even a few minutes with grandchildren, and I realize that in these young lives hope survives. In their presence, I believe that the world can survive; that things can be better if for no other reason than they can make it happen.
