To be a grandparent is to love all over again. But softer this time. Slower. Wiser. With eyes that know how fast it all goes.
It’s holding tiny hands with fingers that once zipped coats and wiped tears from the faces of their parents.
It’s retelling the same story for the fiftieth time because the way their eyes light up is worth every word.
It’s snacks in your purse, just in case.
It’s showing up early to sit in the front row of a game you still don’t understand, but you know how to clap the loudest.
It’s saying yes to one more cookie, one more book, one more minute before bed because now you know how precious one more truly is.
It’s watching your child become a parent and silently praying over them the way you once did at 2 am when their fever wouldn’t break.
It’s a second chance at the slow mornings you once rushed through. At the giggles you were too tired to chase. At the magic you now refuse to miss.
To be a grandparent is to carry history in your hands and plant wonder in theirs. It’s a bridge between where they come from and where they’re going.
It’s not just love, it’s legacy wrapped in lullabies. And it’s the greatest honor of all.
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