Enoch and Enoch

I took the liberty of swiping this picture from my sister's facebook account. This is my dad, reading the comics to Nikki's little boy, who holds his name.

Once my dad told me, "You know Erin, I will probably never know your children well." I was upset when he said that, and immediately scolded my 73 year-old father. I don't know if it hurt more that he acknowledged mortality, our distance, or the fact that either way, it was true.

Living far from family is so hard, and my eyes well up with hot tears thinking about that statement. My parents don't know my kids, and my kids don't know their grandparents (Sadie just refers to Ganpa-Ganpa to cover all of her grandparents). I am caught in the middle, and now and again see things my kids do: a random mannerism, Joe Joe's GIANT hands that are SO my dad's, Sadie's brown Mead eyes--and am left to struggle with my little children not being able to see and touch and hug from whom they inherited those traits.

I understand that we had to move in order to provide for those little children, but oh so often I wish for a way to bridge the distance and time spent so far apart.

Little Enoch, you were abundantly blessed to have them close, to kiss and tug on those grey whiskers of Grandpa Mead, sit by Grandma and watch a little TV while you chat, and to read with your, "Ba-Ba" out on the patio picnic table on a Sunday morning, and know they love you. I know they miss you.