Vinnie at 3 weeks

In May, 2022, my oldest granddaughter gave birth to a baby boy. He’s a beautiful, adorable baby, of course!

I’m still trying to process being a great-grandmother. I’m not really that old. (Am I?) Early seventies isn’t really old, right? I don’t feel old. (Except when I’m having a Covid relapse, but that’s happening less and less frequently.) I walk a mile and a third to a mile and a half almost every day and do strength exercises as well. I work in the garden most days. (When it isn’t 95 at nine o’clock on the morning.) I stay pretty active.

Most of my grandchildren are still children. But my oldest daughter had her children early, which made me a grandmother for the first time at the age of 42.  And now, that grandchild just had her first child.

Vinnie is adorable and precious.

Vinnie at 2 months

But I’m wrestling with what it means for me, personally.

His birth reminds me that my time is winding down.

I’ve had a good life. I’ve been married to the love of my life for more than fifty years, raised a great family, watched my children accomplish some amazing things, have wonderful grandchildren, and achieved a number of career goals. I’m blessed to have lived to meet a great grandchild. I don’t take that for granted. I know it’s a privilege not given to all.

Regrets? I have a few, but honestly I feel like if you don’t have a few regrets at my age you either haven’t really lived or you haven’t examined your life in any serious way.

But there are still things I want to do. I haven’t written all the books and stories I have in me. There are many places I want to visit. I’d like to see the rest of my grandchildren grow up.

I’m trying to take care of myself in hope that I’ll have more years to do all those things. At the same time, I want to live in the knowledge that every day I still have is a gift.