Over the last few years, Carolyn has enrolled in enough of my classes to have a major in me. She has come a long way not so much because of my nudging her along, but more, I think, because of her own hard work and persistence. She's a hardheaded, non-traditional student, who has raised an eloquent eyebrow at my words in class more than once. We disagree about many things, from questions about the existence of god to whether the fact that her date of birth falls 361 days after mine really means she's younger than I am. However, as the posting here of this entry from her current class journal demonstrates, we both recognize that even imperfect things can be perfectly beautiful.

There is little else in this world that can compare with a baby. Its wonderment is beyond mere words. How anyone can look at a baby and not believe in a loving God is beyond my comprehension. When I look at a baby I see my God. This could be why I love them so much, I don�t know. What I do know is that for all my talk about so many blankets to make and about the growing cost of grandparenthood, it is simply that, all talk. I do not think you could give me too many grandchildren. Giving birth and raising my own four children was my greatest joy and accomplishment. And yet, being a grandmother is much more fun and is just as great a joy, and without all the physical pain. Now, you can�t beat that.

Today I received a call from my youngest son Richi. His wife Jackee will bring forth yet another grandchild in June; we are told it will be a boy. My son asked a question, one difficult for both of us. If he names the boy after himself, Richard Jr., would I mind if they call him R.J.? Without hesitation, I said that that would be just fine.

And it will be.

Luckily Richi went into one of his talkative modes and did not notice my sudden quiet, for as quickly as I had answered and without regret, tears began streaming down my face unchecked.

When I was nineteen years old, I too had a baby boy, and his nickname was R.J. He died when he was six weeks and one day old. That was thirty-two years ago. Often, days and weeks go by without a thought of him. However, in rare moments like this, the ache springs forth from the depths of my heart so quickly it is beyond my power to stop it.

I am glad Richi is not here to see me cry. He would not understand that the tears are necessary. I could not explain them nor would I try to hold them back if I could. How can you explain everything is fine while you are crying tears of sadness?

I myself was quite surprised at the sudden welling of my feelings, though I don�t know why. It is not the first time. I am sure it will not be the last time. Still, it amazes me how quickly the pain returns. I grieve the loss of my parents, often with tears. I pray, however, that the loss of R.J. will be the worst pain I ever know. I also pray that my children and their children never know the loss of a baby.

The shedding of these tears will allow me to move on yet another step.

Will I think of my son every time I hear my grandson�s nickname? For a while, most likely.

Will it always hurt so much? I doubt it. I am already thinking about which blanket to make for the new R.J. and wondering what he will look like.

And then I remember: He will look like God � gentle, loving and pure.

I can�t wait to hold him in my arms.