Reflections on presence, lineage, and the hours before
As I sit with the final hours before becoming a grandfather for the first time, I find myself thinking about something I imagine a lot of parents do at some point. We look back on raising our kids and wonder what we might have done differently, the mistakes we made, the moments we missed, the things we didn’t understand at the time.
If you’d rather listen than read, there’s a video version of this reflection waiting for you at the bottom of the page.
As I move through the hours before a new generation enters the world, one thought keeps coming back to me:
This brand-new, beautiful human being will get to meet a version of me that her father only saw in pieces.
That’s not to take anything away from my role as a dad. I have a good, loving relationship with my two grown children today, and I’m very grateful for that. But there was a time when those relationships were strained, when my addiction, relapses, and absence created real distance. I was around, but not always present. I loved them, but I didn’t always show it well.
And my grandchild… she doesn’t ever have to know the version of me who lived in addiction, as long as I keep doing what I’m doing today.
There’s something humbling in that. Recovery didn’t erase the past, but it changed the person standing here now. It’s allowed me to show up with more steadiness, more clarity, and more presence. To love without disappearing. To be someone who can be counted on.
Another thing I’m noticing during these hours is how differently I’m experiencing them because of what I’ve learned about presence. I’m not drifting off into thoughts about who this child might become or rushing ahead to the future. I’m not getting caught up in expectations or milestones.
Instead, I feel rooted right here, in this moment, in the simple fact that a new life is about to arrive. And honestly, that feels like enough.
As I sit with the waiting, I also realize I don’t even know the sex or the name yet, and strangely, that doesn’t matter. What matters is being present for the moment itself.
One more thought keeps coming to me.
With the birth of this child comes a kind of renewal for the generations that came before her. There’s a Buddhist teaching that says if you look closely at your hand, you can see all the generations that came before you, parents, grandparents, ancestors, all somehow present in what you carry today.
In her, there is life from every branch of the family tree, the stories, the resilience, the love, and even the hard lessons passed down along the way. Sitting with that feels meaningful in a way that’s hard to explain.
Moments like this have a way of doing that.
A new life enters the world, and suddenly the past, present, and future feel connected in a very real way. I can’t change the years I wish had gone differently, but I can stand here, awake and present, and meet this moment with gratitude.
And for today, that feels like enough.
