At Least They're Committed

You’re here, Dezmond Ryan, and my emotions run the gamut between giddiness, awe and raw determination. With you in my arms, then by my side, then strolling ahead of me, then sprinting and barely looking back — as it should be — life continues on its given path.

You were born at 2:54 a.m. and when at last they let me, your grandpa, your uncles, Maddie and Hope into the hospital room, I’d been awake 27+ consecutive hours.  As your dad held you, the family gently converged, reaching out, softly touching, smiling, giggling, tearing up. It was beautiful. I was the last to fall in, limping, and as I did something wonderful happened. Everyone stepped back and your dad turned and handed you to me. Me first. So tiny, so tiny; yet not helpless, nor frail, rather strong and determined.

Life. Family. Legacy. History. All those struggles throughout all those centuries and all those generations coming to this moment. I’ve often asked of life “why?” You are why. I cradled you and stared, amazed by the being of you, then  leaned in to you and whispered, “The mischief we shall make.” And that, my grandson, my first, is my promise to you. I love you baby. I’m glad you’re here.