No one, no book, ever prepared me for the most magical love of all - my grandchildren, Morgan and Zachary. From the heaven-sent instant that I felt the miracle of their downy soft hair on my cheek, took in their baby powder sweetness and gazed into their innocent, dependent eyes, I was a goner - hopelessly smitten. The remaining vacant spaces in my heart filled to overflowing and this once bland female transformed into an intensely protective, ferocious "grand"mother tiger. From calm, measured real estate professional to emotional wreck and mental case, my love was unconditional and remains so today. If Morgan and Zachary would indulge me, I would hug them, holding them in my protective embrace, until eternity. That should elicit some strange glances in the future from their teenage friends!
Every illness, no matter how minor, sends me into a spin. And so it was on Tuesday I learned that my grandson was ill and vomiting. "Just the flu", my son calmly stated. My inner, unbalanced protective tiger wanted to scream, "Call an ambulance. Rush him to Sick Kids", but then Matt would know what I am sure he has long suspected, that his Mother is unhinged and totally certifiable. Day two dawned with Zachary still vomiting. "He's like a wet blanket, no energy", my daughter-in-law, Michelle, reported. My mind became a mass of short circuited brain waves. I bit my tongue until bloody restraining myself from blurting out, "Call all GTA pediatricians. Let's confer. How long does the flu last anyways?"
On my way home from a city appointment yesterday, I purchased a downy soft, toffee-coloured stuffed bunny. Zachary loves stuffed bunnies as is evidenced by his bunny collection that appears to reproduce as quickly as the real version. "I collect bunnies you know, Grammie" he lovingly states as his introduction of each and every one commences. I can plan on being occupied for a lengthy period of time as each bunny introduction is followed by a hug and personality breakdown.
I was greeted by my son, Matt, who remained home for the day. There lay Zachary in his sleeping bag, in the living room, sound asleep, totally inert. How can that little boy who just two days ago was screaming, "Look at me, Grammie" as he whizzed by at sound barrier speeds on his new scooter, now appear so small, so fragile, so vulnerable? My heart physically ached. Matt, in an effort not to awaken him, deftly placed the bunny in Zachary's arms. I departed to complete my journey home, my mood not lifted as usual by the sunny drive to Uxbridge on our gorgeous country roads. A mood of concern like a rain-heavy cloud hung over me to dull my day.
The call came early that evening. Matt, in his car, was on speaker phone when he was interrupted by music to my ears. "Grammie, the bunny came and I am better", chirped Zachary from the back of the car.
"I love you, Zachary. Thanks for calling, Hon", was about all my constricted throat would allow me to utter.
As I hung up, the tears began to flow. Of course, it was only the flu you silly old biddy! 'Nuff said.
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