My grandson Beau is with me for the weekend. He’s two. And brings me joy and pain all at once. Joy because he’s such a precious little fella. Pain because he’s so much like his father. It’s hard to be with him. But harder to be without him. 

I curled up in bed with him a while ago just to watch him sleep. He snuggled against my warmth and I lay there crying silent tears. 

This time is so fleeting. How much longer will he want to stay with Granny? He calls me Ghee. How much longer will he curl up against me in the night? I grieve in advance for other grandchildren I’ll never have. 

Nobody has loved being a Granny more than me. I’ve taken care of him about three days a week since he was born, except right after Ben died. I couldn’t.  

I have an extreme fear something is going to happen to him. Panic. I watch him sleep. To make sure he keeps breathing. I’m afraid to pray for him. Everything I pray for fervently dies. 

I’d never prayed so hard for Ben than I did in the weeks before he died. I wasn’t used to not having him home. And I was so afraid of Covid. I worried constantly. 

After Ben passed I prayed over and over thanking God I was able to work. My job is good and helps me so much through distraction from grief. Then he took that. I won’t have a job come Sept 30. 

When Miracle Kitty disappeared for an evening I prayed so hard for her return. I went door to door and she finally showed up. Only to die a week later, the same day I lost my job.

I’m scared to pray for Beau. Honestly truly scared to pray. Will he take him too?

I don’t pray for Mama and Daddy either.