We walk hand in hand down the street, following the very old dog at the end of the leash. He is slow but so are we. There is no reason to hurry. The journey is as enjoyable as the journey’s end. Our destination: the small hill at the end of our cul de sac. Our mission: to watch the cars and trucks on the street below.
We climb the hill. I sit in the grass and the very young boy settles into my lap. His sandy colored hair wisps in the wind. Up close he smells like a combination of soft baby skin and the cereal he clutches in his travel cup. This very little boy, who is barely two years old, scans the landscape. With each vehicle that rounds the bend he draws in a breath and points. Each car, each truck is given its due awe and wonder. We sit contentedly, the very old dog, the very young boy and me, the somewhat young/somewhat old GiGi, enjoying the early and unexpected spring weather. I make up a song about the cars and he seems to nod in approval when I sing it in response as a new car drives past.
The dog gets comfortable. He knows we might be awhile. Time passes, (10 min? 20? 30 or more?) I really don’t mind. That little body nestled into mine, the dog dozing at my side, the smell of Spring in the air. This child pulls me into living in the present like no one else has managed to do and for this I am grateful.
Some time passes and I ask him if he is ready to walk back to the house. He shakes his head no and presses his back against my chest as if to hold me in the moment. Cars pass, time passes. We sit, we watch. The warm air turns slightly chilly. Eventually he agrees that it is time to walk back to tell Poppy of our wandering.
We “run” down the small hill as much as a very old dog, a very young child and a somewhat young/somewhat old GiGi can and he laughs as if it is a grand adventure. He places his hand in mine as we make our way back down the street. We talk about cars in the way that we often do, me mentioning all the colors we saw, him nodding in approval. I grasp his hand a little tighter and the very old dog slowly and quietly leads us back home.
He says hello to the little ceramic bird figure that sits on the shelf at eye level, (his), opens the cupboard I store his toys and books in, (and then ignores them), plays with the switch on the cable box underneath the TV, (because a blinking blue light is more interesting than toys), walks into the dining room to open and close the door that leads out to the sunporch, (because that feels powerful), walks over to the piano to play a few notes, (because he can reach them), and then begins to climb the stairs, (because they are there). It’s like he is going through a checklist in his head; “These are the things I must do when visiting my Gigi and Poppy.”
Hanging out with a 1 year old during a pandemic is a lesson in perspective. The macro of life becomes micro. News headlines and updates that come at me in a confounding disarray are replaced by board books that tell the same, comforting story with every turn of the page. We work together on learning the theory of gravity by throwing rocks, the biology of insects by observing the tiniest bug crossing the sidewalk and cause and effect by seeing what happens if food is dropped from a highchair tray to the dog waiting patiently underneath it. If only research were this simple in the realm of observational information vs randomized trials and vaccine development for the masses, the world outside these doors would heal a lot faster.
He is teaching me that even when times are hard there is room in daily life for love and laughter, smiles and giggles. Staying in the moment and only concentrating on what is right in front of me, (the block tower, the bouncy ball, the cuddly stuffed dog), keeps the unknowns of all that is outside these four walls from messing with my head. In a world that is screaming for attention from every platform available, his barely perceptible nod when I ask him a simple question is worth celebrating. We are communicating! We understand one another! Oh if it could be that simple in the comments section of any social media platform.
fills him up and comforts him when he asks for it and that right now, that is enough. It is this innocence and my knowing that it is a brief moment of his life that is drawing me in like a magnet. I look at him and I see humanity stripped down to its purist state: a person before the world eats away at who a person was meant to be.
Life feels quiet right now. But it is the kind of quiet before the noise. It’s the pause you feel when you know something big and momentous is coming soon and for us that something big is someone small. Our first grandchild is sweeping into our lives in about 3 short months and a couple of weeks ago we found out that it is a he. And all of a sudden, there are little boys everywhere. At the grocery store, on TV, at church, in restaurants. Everywhere I look, I see little boys and I wonder….”Will he look like this? Act like that?”
the Joyful Second Half 