It's a good day for hugs, and laughter, and tears.

I've lost a lot of family members and friends these past few years, and it's still difficult at times.dBut I know they live on in our hearts, and that is no small measure of immortality.dI still talk to my dad sometimes, in my head and in my heart, and he still gives me great advice.

My grandson would have been three years old today.dMy heart still feels broken, and he's been gone a little over a year now.

After his last surgery, when we realized he wasn't going to make it, I couldn't help but think of my best friend Elsbeth.dI kept picturing her not only in a bed at the opposite end of the hospital floor comatose and hooked up to machines like Joseph was, but also sitting up and showing off her scars after her liver transplant, so proud and so full of hope.

After Elsbeth's transplant, my daughter brought Joseph to visit, and it was love at first sight for both of them.dJoseph had been eating red licorice and was a sticky mess, so I undressed him and cleaned him up as best I could.

Joseph was Down's syndrome and had his first open-heart surgery when he was three months old.dThe nurse came in as we were all sitting in Elsbeth's bed, comparing scars.dShe thought we were a bunch of lunatics, three adult women and a baby in a transplant unit bed, giggling and playing.dBut she let us stay.

Elsbeth didn't hesitate in opening her heart to Joseph, in spite of his disability, and understood more than anyone how precious the gift of life is, no matter what kind of life or how short it may be.

While we waited for news on Joseph's condition, knowing what was going to happen, but still hoping the doctors were wrong, I comforted myself with the thought that Elsbeth was waiting to welcome Joseph.dAnd that he would have a wonderful life with her, and she would finally have a child.

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17 August 2000

I have two grandchildren now, siblings of Joseph, and though the pain of losing him will never disappear, I can smile now, and laugh again.

Even when I have a blonde moment and call my surviving grandson Joseph.dOr when my granddaughter points to an old photograph and says, "Mama, Daddy...Wolfe."dSomeday, when she's a little older, we'll explain.

And sometimes, when I'm playing with my grandkids, I catch a glimpse of Elsbeth, looking over her shoulder at me and waving as she takes Joseph by the hand and heads to the park to play.