He was little again. About, maybe, six years old. Playing with his toys. I woke up at around three AM nearly in tears from missing him, then and now. I'm pretty weepy as I'm writing this.
As I was driving to work this morning something dawned on me. I think I know why people pressure their adult kids to have grandchildren. I always thought it was so they'd know their "line" or "name" would live on. But, I don't think that's it.
I think it's because they want to see that little boy or girl once again through their grandchildren. To relive those moments in a way never appreciated the first time.
I know this is also related to the finality of next Friday. A hard day today.
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