Page 130 of My Best Years

Sophia’s husband gently takes the baby boy from her arms and walks him over to where I’m sitting.

My arms and hands tremble as I reach for the baby. These days, they shake a lot more than they used to.

“Gramps, are you okay?” Sophia asks, concern lacing her tone. “Are you sure you’re up to holding him right now? If you’re feeling weak, we can bring him by your house when we get home from the hospital.”

I’m beyond blessed to have six wonderful grandchildren. They all know about my battle with MS and stop by to check on me often. They know how I have good days and bad days.And even though I’m not feeling particularly well today, I refuse to miss out on this moment.

“No,” I shake my head. “I’m fine, darling. I’m just a little excited, that’s all.”

“Stand by him,” Sophia quietly instructs her husband in a hushed tone, hoping I don’t hear her. “Just in case.”

My stubborn ass rolls my eyes at her comment. I may be in my eighties, but I’m strong enough to hold a seven-pound baby.

Her husband nods before carefully lowering the boy into my arms.

Even after three kids and six grandchildren, this feeling never gets old. There’s something so profoundly special about holding a new, precious life in your arms. It’s a feeling that I have no words for. It’s indescribable.

He’s all bundled up like a little burrito, snoozing soundly. We all chuckle when he purses his little lips and blows out a sleepy bubble.

“He’s beautiful, Sophia,” I breathe, mesmerized by this little human.

“Isn’t he perfect?” she beams. “You’re a great-grandpa now. Can you believe it?”

“No,” I chuckle. “I can’t. It feels like you were just born yesterday. Now look at you, fully grown with a baby of your own.”

A joyful tear slides down her cheek as she nods.

“I feel so honored that you’re here to meet him, Gramps,” she smiles. “Do you want to know his name?”

“Of course.”

When I lift my head to meet her eyes, I find her face bent with emotion. Her chin quivers as her voice cracks.

“His name is Callum,” she croaks. “Callum Wren. Named after his great grandpa and grandma.”

My heart stops.

Every muscle in my body freezes when I hear Sophia utter his name.

I stare down at the tiny miracle in my arms in bewilderment.

“His name…” I trail off, barely able to string together words, “Is what?”

I need to make sure I heard her right.

“His name is Callum Wren,” she repeats softly. “After you and Grandma Birdie.”

I shake my head and swallow thickly. I’m at a complete loss for words. Unshed tears brim my eyes as I brush my thumb against my great-grandson's rosy cheek.

“Sophia…” I choke out. I taste my salty tears before I feel them wet my wrinkled skin.

“Sophia,” I try again. “This is…” I croak. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me.”

A pained sob makes its way up from my throat as I think about my wife of fifty-three years. The only woman I ever loved. My one and only.

“She would be so proud, Sophia.”

“Sheisproud, Gramps,” Sophia assures me. “She’s here with us. I can feel her.”

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