Pure joy

There is nothing quite like a young grandchild running towards their grandparent, whether it be off the plane or along the beach or when one has arrived unexpectedly at the other's house.

The pure joy is contagious, spreading from the little legs running towards one, to the old legs greeting them.

Such was my good-fortune this afternoon.

I'd had a ring from Levi asking me if I would like to join him and his family at the beach where he and his brother Michael were planning a dive. As it was only 15 minutes away, I replied in the affirmative. Upon reaching the end of the road, I noticed Levi's car was not amongst those parked on the grass and assumed he must have taken his vehicle down the beach.

I set off on foot, scanning in both directions as I did so, deciding he would have most likely gone left. My eyesight is not that great but I could make out a couple of black cars in the distance and assumed one might be his. I was hoping it would be, because I didn't feel like walking too far along the beach.

As I approached the second car, I saw a little dot bounding towards me, getting bigger as it got closer. Then I realised the dot was Kylah, my three-year-old granddaughter, whose little legs were running full pelt in my direction. She had obviously recognized me long before I could make out who she was.

My heart was melting. There could be no greater welcoming than that - a little being oozing love, joy and acceptance, all at once. And full of innocence at the same time.

If nothing else had happened for the rest of my day, it wouldn't have mattered, for I had received my fill.

The greeting took me back to a time when I had arrived off a plane, eight years ago. As I came through customs, bags clunking with my alcohol gifts, I was met by another three-year-old. The little tot had woven her way through chairs of people, found the aisle, and was bounding towards me in the same way Kylah was today. That three-year-old is now 11 and nearly as tall as me. How time flies.

And both Stephen and I were met in the same manner by Willow at her party last week. She came bounding down the stairs and out to our car as we arrived.

I feel so fortunate to have these beautiful children in my life. I don't see the Gold Coast pair, or Willow when she's in France, as much as I'd like to, but the times when I do see them, are special.

To them I am Nana, or Naughty Nana when I wind them up, or Nanarea after I arrived in Gold Coast with diahorrea once. My son, Jason, gave me that nick-name, to much chuckling from the grandkids.

Whatever, I don't mind what I am called. I am just so thankful to have them in my life.