I have the boys.

Yesterday, I didn’t think that I could go on; I mean, not seeing my grandsons. It’s been since Christmas since I have seen the seven-year-old and a month since I last saw the baby. As if by some strange alignment with the planets or if my broken heart sent these rays to my daughter or what ever, but my son got a call from my daughter, she told him, he, not me, but he could come see the boys. I told him to go and give them my kisses and tell them I love and miss them. At least by him seeing the boys, we know they are okay. Then as he was getting ready to leave, she calls back and says that he can have them over night but not to bring them to my house. He told her that was stupid, that he was not going to do that, that he was going to bring them here and that was final. She hung up. I scolded my son. I said, you could have brought them and not told her, and he said, I know her, she has plans, she will call back. Sure enough, she called back and said, okay, but just because they were coming here was no reason for me to believe that I was going to ever get them after that. My son drove down to this little shack not far from Ozark where my daughter is living with one of crank friends. After he picked them up, we met at a restaurant. My seven-year-old ran to me and almost knocked me down and while my son was carrying the baby, he, the baby, liked to have pinched my son’s arms off, trying to get down and to get to me. His first words were Nan, love you. I cried and cried and cried. Can you believe it, right there in front of all those people, I cried. Then when the boys saw Granddad, well, I have to tell you the smiles that spread across their faces were priceless. The baby hugged and kissed him and then back to hugging and kissing me and the seven-year-old just held my arm, not my hand, my arm. We looked like a family that hasn’t seen each other in years, instead of just a few weeks. I don’t know how grandparents can go weeks or months or years and not see their grandbabies. Maybe it would be easier if I hadn’t raised the boys from babies or if she, my daughter, was dependable and good and I wouldn’t have to worry.
This surprise visit is good. It will make the writing of my two papers easy. The only thing, the seven-year-old has to sleep with Granddad and me, and he sleeps like a mule, but hey, I’ll take a few kicks in the back; in fact, I missed that little mule and was real happy having him cuddle up to me. It worked better than any sleeping pill that I have ever taken. Yep, that’s true.