I saw you this morning and I couldn’t help but stare as you stood beside the back door of your car waiting. As I walked across the parking lot toward you I guessed at what you might be waiting for; I’ve seen that look before. I drew near and my assumption was confirmed as I watched you close the car door, gently take the hand of a little boy in yours, and walk toward the store with him jumping and bobbing along with every step.
I envy you. Every time I see you I get a lump in my throat and my eyes burn with tears I try to hold back.
I see you often; we seem to frequent the same places. I’ve seen you in the bookstore sitting on the floor reading to a little child. I’ve seen you at the grocery store, a little one holding on to the side of the buggy while you peruse the varieties of cereal on the shelves.
I’ve been taught that it’s wrong to let jealousy have a foothold. The counsel is to be thankful for what one has instead of coveting that which someone else has but I can’t help it.
Every time I see a woman of my demographic in the company of a child I’m overcome with longing. Do you realize how blessed you are to be able to be part of the day-to-day life of your grandchild? I wonder. Do you know I would change places with you in a nano-second if I could?
When I hear tales from women like you who are fortunate enough to be able to have their grandchildren sleep over at their houses regularly, those for whom it’s commonplace to make up silly games to amuse them with, to cook their special food for them, to take them shopping, to watch TV shows with them, and finally to fall into bed at the end of a weekend exhausted from trying to keep up with them, I’m wickedly jealous.
You are one of the blessed ones, grandmother-who-lives-close-to-her-grandchildren. Never forget it. Don’t take it for granted. There are many like me who would give anything to be where you are today.