babies are good therapy

We've been more than fortunate in my family. Growing up, I was one of the only kids I knew who had all four grandparents alive and, more importantly, well. And the good fortune has lasted a long time: Ghoulie now has not one, not two, but six great-grandparents -- all four of my grandparents, and both Jake's grandmothers.
But recently, I have had to come to terms with the fact that this good fortune can't possibly last forever. Or rather, the fact that we are so fortunate does not mean that the situation will last forever (big difference). And this is painful to write, let alone think about, because I know that my mother and my mother-in-law and one of my grandmothers will probably be the first three to read it, and none of us really likes to think about it. But lately, one of my grandfathers is slipping. That vague, gentle word is the term we've been using, because it sounds nicer to say that than it does to say, "He doesn't really know what's going on." Or what year it is or where he's going or sometimes even who my grandmother is.
It breaks my heart to even write it. At first I was able to say, "Well, he's old, that's just what happens." Because that's true, and besides it makes it so much easier to deal with. But one day it occurred to me that, sure, that's easy to say, but this is not just my grandfather, this is my grandmother's husband. This is my father's father. And maybe I can (sort of) deal with seeing my grandfather this way, but I certainly wouldn't know how to deal with seeing Jake or my own Dad like this. That changes my perspective considerably. It makes me worry and feel sad for my grandmother and for my Dad. I am, by nature, the type of person who likes to "make everything all better," and this situation makes me feel helpless and useless and impotent. You know, a dose of reality. Because who am I to think I can help this situation?
Church is halfway between our house and my grandparents', so when they weren't in church yesterday, Ghoulie and I went for a visit. Grandpa wasn't feeling well, but he was mostly himself. We talked about family and Ghoulie and Jake's career possbilities, and the prospects of them selling their house to move closer to my parents. But it wasn't the conversation or the visit with their granddaughter that made them so happy. It was the visit from their great-granddaughter.
Ghoulie seemed to know that she had the power to brighten their day. She spent her afternoon smiling and cooing, rolling around on a receiving blanket that once belonged to my father, and, best of all, devouring the bites of apple pie (sans crust) that I offerred her. Grampa thought this was the greatest trick in the world, and when I lamented the fact that I had barely had a bite myself, Grammie held Ghoulie and gave her a few more bites from her own plate. Apparently, Ghoulie is a true yankee at heart, because man she likes her apple pie. To the point of crying when one bite wasn't followed by another. She has never done this with rice cereal and carrots. (Who would?)
What amazed me was just how happy both my grandparents were just to have Ghoulie present. Her simply being in their house, behaving as she always does (except that she doesn't usually eat apple pie), was enough to make them overjoyed. When all we did was to come for a visit.
We are in the process of planning Little Ghoulie's baby dedication, and Jake keeps asking, "What is a baby dedication, anyway?" To which I give vague answers like, "It's saying you want your baby to honor God," and things like that. But what does that even mean?
A college friend of mine has started a new blog. When I read her first post today, after buying car insurance and sitting on hold with the new pediatrician for half an hour, I felt very shallow and small. I get so caught up in this day-to-day life of baby-raising and general domestication, and I tend to forget the bigger picture. But I only forget it in the short term.
Dedicating Ghoulie to God, or, for that matter, taking her to visit my grandparents, is really all about the same thing: It's because I want her to make the world better. I want her to believe that, whether on a small scale or a large one, she has something to offer. That she has the power to improve the world around her and the people who live in it.
So maybe I look at certain situations and I feel powerless. But then I realize that my little baby, so small and weak and wordless, has a power greater than any of the rest of us can comprehend. And if that means eating a little apple pie once in a while, so be it.