For me, this has been a time of repentance and apprehension, my grandchildren, as I have been forced to form premature boundaries around your arrival into a world that seemingly has none. Perhaps one that's paralleled to the safe place you may reside at this moment in time and dimension.

I see you as both a buoyant certainty and a far-off prophecy; either way, I assure you that I will be standing guard when you arrive.

As I write, I imagine you in a separate existence, an existence where blood hasn't yet warmed your souls or where your minds have not yet conjured a thought; unable to speak a word, but I can hear you.

Yes, you are my grandchildren, perfect in every way, and though you haven't yet stirred earth's soil...I've washed your feet and soothed your reddened scrapes.

I would ask you to Imagine a key, the simplest of mechanisms that unlock the silenced noise of yesteryear's parents when your fathers were eye-twinkles, toddlers, teens, and then men. It was a beautiful life worth reliving through your angelic eyes and fashioned intellects.

My sons, your fathers, would call me crazy to imagine who you are, who you may become today, or perhaps tomorrow, or possibly just perhaps, regardless; I want you to know I've known you all along.

I see you in a quick, spinning kaleidoscope of black and white, a pioneering overlap of motherly and fatherly smiles, laughs, personality traits, and facial features. I know already how beautiful you are and how wonderful you will become.

There is no space amid the spectrum of death and the awaited; they are but one, eternalized through the living. For that reason alone, I know you will love me as I do you. I will be here waiting.