I have a new grandson, born this morning at 2:50 a.m. Eastern Standard Time in Newmarket, Ontario, 6000 kms away from Dawson City. If I could, I would teleport from here to there. I’m just barely keeping myself from running out the door and down the street and not stopping until I have gathered his perfection into my arms and breathed in his essence and whispered in his ear about my unconditional love, that I will be his champion, I will hold the world back when need be, when it is crowding in on him and blocking the beauty, that I will applaud his extraordinarily ordinary moments and I won’t mind a bit if he spits up on me.
This glorious isolation has never felt so isolating, as it does this minute, where the only place I want to be is with my daughter.
Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. But I’m not sure I can.