My grandson talks to me in his native tongue, telling me stories from foreign lands. He snuggles close beside my ear to speak sometimes, others he paces back and forth across the room waving his tiny arms in the air, clapping with delight at his own jokes. I laugh, although I do not understand a word he says, but somehow the gist of what he means comes through. I think perhaps I have some ghostly memory of that place from a visit long ago. The words all sound familiar but sit just beyond my grasp. He speaks of rainbows in colors unknown to human eyes after storms made of cotton candy. Other things he tries to explain are much more complicated, things so big I have lost the ability to comprehend them because I have been too long in this solid, almost unwavering world. It is enough that he still knows. Someday soon he will learn how humans speak. Of course, a lot of the magic will be gone by then, but not all. I whisper to him as I rock him to sleep, beg him not to forget entirely. Hold it in your heart sweet baby I say, don’t ever let it go. Just before his eyes close he sighs a baby sigh that sounds very like, “I’ll try”. I kiss his tiny forehead and sing him softly off to his baby dreams.
Dec 2010
i think they know things. I have so many stories from when the kids were young. Love you!