Tuesday, August 7, 2018
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When our son and his family lived in another state, man, we cherished visits from him, his wife and our beautiful granddaughter. She was two at the time, but she seemed to have the vocabulary of like a five-year-old. Besides being unexplainably beautiful (being my granddaughter, that's miraculous), she really knew how to communicate – with words, with gestures, with facial expressions. We loved our time with her, and she seemed to love her time with us. But, well, this wasn't home. They lived many miles from here. She needed to be home ultimately, sleeping in her bed, playing with her toys, being around the people she loves there, and enjoying her personal world. This is where she visited. That's where she lived. She was in the car with Mommy and Daddy, all strapped in her toddler seat and ready to pull out of the driveway to head home. Oh how she cried! She begged me to get in. She begged me to sit down. Her crying broke a grandparent's heart. But once she was home she loved being where she lived. It's just that leaving is so hard.