On ‘I’m Sorry, No More ducks,’ by Jesse Wegman, NYTimes (2016).
I remembered rocking my drowsy grandson in my arms, in his dusk-lit bedroom, our songbook closed long ago, his crib in the ready just a few feet away. I could hear the voices of his mom and dad at dinner downstairs. I felt hungry myself, but was never in a rush to give up the sleeping bundle in my arms. Unlike when I was a mom, as a grandmom I had time (lots of it) to give to the bedtime ritual, a routine I knew would pass all too soon. And I had perspective, not lots, but enough to realize that the value of moments spent with this small body nestled next to mine were invaluable. A special kind of love is born of unhurried closeness. In his article, Jesse Wegman, the dad rocking his “no more ducks” daughter to sleep, gleaned the significance of these moments even as a busy a parent. Reading his story, I flash forward to an imagined moment in this dad’s future: I see him as a granddad and his now busy daughter-mom—still carrying the sense-memories of their slow-motion bedtimes—invites him to enjoy the ritual all over again with her toddler. Love finds ways of giving and then giving again.