It’s a boy
When my sweetheart passed away in July, his daughter was a few months pregnant with her second child. A was a wonderful grandfather, and a father, and he doted on his girls on a level that brought you joy just to know about it. The way he smiled when he held his granddaughter was like the sun; even in photos, you could see how happy he was, and so he was excited for the new baby on the way.
I worried for his daughter, then, in July. Grief is bad enough, worse than I could ever have imagined; I didn’t know what effect it would have on a pregnant woman. But with my only conduit of regular news having passed on, I didn’t get to follow her progress. It was another secondary loss; he and I talked often of his family, especially his daughter and granddaughter and son-in-law. I am invested in his family in a way none of them will ever know or understand, and I don’t imagine that will change, despite my not hearing about them. I was never directly involved in their lives previous to his passing, so nothing’s changed for them. But much has changed for me. I love them all, through him, because of him. I do.
She was due the week I was headed to camp, and he and I had talked about how that might complicate our usual annual trip, never imagining that other vastly more difficult complication would arise in the meantime. I finally had an opportunity to ask his best friend if he’d had any news about the baby, and I found out my sweetie now has a grandson, whose middle name is the same as A’s, A’s brother, A’s father, and it was his grandfather’s name. That pleased me. Those two kids don’t know it, but there’s a lady they’ll probably never know about who loves them.
I felt better, knowing that he’d arrived. I’d been waiting. It’s so hard to be on the outside of things you were on the inside of before. I understand completely why things are the way they are. But I can’t help being a little bit wistful about it.