Grains

Feb 27, 2026

There through the looking glass…

-Watchhouse, “Shape”

August, 2020

He‘s hard at work.

Digging, and digging, and digging, the wet sand that moments ago filled the void now piled haphazardly around its perimeter. This close to the Atlantic, his pit quickly fills with briny ocean from beneath, a Mother Nature magic trick that provides both fascination and a new endeavour as he works tirelessly to empty his new hollow.

I love him so very much.

At five years old, he begins to resemble his adolescent form. The bulbous torso and short-armed bundle of toddlerhood has all but faded away, replaced by a tiny replica of an adult human. The summer sun has pushed his number one medium fade to the blonde extreme, a sweaty platinum-white with the faintest yellow tinge. His boardshorts are too long, but will not so remain- what today rests an inch below his knees will soon be sitting at the bottom of the thigh.

His rashguard is tight, what’s left of his belly sneaking out from under it’s hem, and combines with a bucket hat and Batman shades to lend comedic effect to the long and baggy trunks, baby up top and midlife crisis on bottom. He hates the hat but has forgotten that it’s on.

He talks while he works, giving orders to his shovel and his bucket, to the water and the sand. His voice is deep for his age, but still very high and pinched, his face scrunching together when he talks. His eyebrows are thick, enjoying jurisdiction from his hairline to the tops of his irises, and he uses their mobility to be expressive in the extreme.

He reads books to his great-grandmother, sits with her while she does her word search. Nearly eighty years apart, they talk on the top deck, two specks of life against the vast backdrop of the sea. She is patient with his inexhaustible energy, with his frenetic approach to life. He is patient with her slow and measured approach, tolerant if the pauses before her words and the lengthy drawl with which she pronounces them.

He sits with his uncle, watching the waves, no doubt benefitting from the same wisdoms that he passed on to me.

He still wears matching pajamas, tight fitting sets displaying fire trucks, fighter planes, dinosaurs and tacos.

He builds things, tears them down, builds them again. Tries hard, concentrates, fails and looks for help. He dances, makes jokes, and fights with his dad, throws fits, melts down, says he’s sorry.

He tells his family that he loves them and means it with all of his heart.

To me, he is everything that is good about the human condition, a reminder of our highest ideals and of our innate understanding of fundamental virtue.

To me, he represents a universal truth, that of the awe-inspiring power of our capacity to love.

“He will never be five years old at the beach again.”

The thought is unbidden, fleeting, and yet twists itself into the fibers of my heart, seizing my senses and sending my understanding of reality into a tailspin.

Terrifying.

Constricting.

Falling.

I am paralyzed, but also fiercely compelled to “ACT”.

The severe finality of this moment, and the next, and the next, and the next are overwhelming. Despite my desire to contain them, they are here, and then they are gone. Over, and over, and over again, leaving me breathless and feeling further and further behind.

I’m losing him.

I’m losing it all.

The conversations to my left and right dull to a low hum, the sharp edges that delineate one word from another dulling into an amorphous blob of emotional cadence. I’m aware of the ocean, of heat, of sweat, of panic, of an overwhelming urge to DO something. Anything.

Go pick him up and hold him.

Never let him out of your sight.

Never miss a single moment of his beautiful existence.

Never let go.

Beg him to “wait!”, beg the universe to slow down, to cease all forward motion for a goddamned second.

If you can’t stop the flow of time, then cheat it. Hack the system, deny its validity, its dominion over you and over all. Use the indomitable force of your will to stop the great erosion, to freeze the cruel and unstoppable sands that have all at once amassed against you, that threaten to bury you under their inevitable forward march.

But alas, I cannot.

“STOP THIS”, cries a voice in my head.

Stop WHAT? Biology? Time? The contemplation of either?

Impossible.

Do I really believe that my greed alone can halt this juggernaut?

Of course not.

It’s just that I love him so very much.

As such, I must let go. The intense call to action was a call to accept, to recommit to an existence rooted in the present.

I must accept that he will change, that he will grow and evolve, that he will age, that he will die, in much the same way that I have accepted such things for myself.

I must accept the fleeting nature of moments, remember that they do not belong to me alone, and that I cannot stop their inexorable flow forward, that attempting to do so will cheat him of the chance at fulfilling the destiny that is his birthright.

I must pay attention, continue moving forward, and figure out what this moment means, why I was struck speechless by a seemingly innocuous thought.

Still here.

For now, we’re all still here.

The universe proper begins to return. The words to my left and right begin to sharpen, to reclaim their form and become language again. I’m aware of the people who speak the words, of my mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and my wife, of all the incredible people in my life who aren’t sitting on this beach, and of the profound impact they’ve had on me, how lucky I am to know them.

I look a bit closer at the little boy whose existence has changed my life forever, grateful for every breath he has taken up to this point, grateful for every breath he is granted from this point forward, grateful to see him more fully.

I’m grateful for this moment, a shining delineator between who I was before it and who I will now become, a catalyst for clearer vision and renewed purpose. It’ll take time to figure this out, but the trajectory has changed. I am now on a path to a better understanding.

Content for now, humbled by the sheer magnificence of it all, I close my eyes, sending the welled tears rolling from beneath my sunglasses and down the sides of my face.

I love him so very much.