My grandson turned twenty-five today. Not my oldest one, either. On Christmas day of 2020, he ("T") and his wife ("A") knocked on our front door. We rarely get company, especially during the dark days of COVID-19, so we were taken by surprise. They had come by to announce the news that they, "T" and "A", were expecting. This will be their firstborn child and will be DSW's and my sixth great-grandchild. A magical Christmas gift, indeed.
I can never seem to forget the other, less cheerful, event which this date also commemorates. Nor should I. My first wife passed away, unexpectedly, twenty-one years ago on "T"'s fourth birthday. Strange how the calendar serves to spin the memory wheel for us. I used to feel bad that there was a shadow over "T"'s birthday celebration each year. When I told "T" this, he said that he is glad to share his birthday with his grandmother's memory and that perspective has helped me a lot. Still bittersweet, inevitably, the date becomes less bitter and more sweet with each passing year. I think Sheri would like that.