I Blessed My Granddaughter

My superstitious stress about fate

My granddaughter was born on Thursday. Until I was able to see my daughter Lauren and her baby healthy in the hospital I didn’t realize how tightly I had been holding my breath.

All week I’d been distracted, sleeping fitfully, short of temper, and generally sluggish. What I’d attributed to a reaction to a Covid shot was instead anticipatory stress.

Why stress over the coming of this second grandchild? I don’t know. Maybe lately I’ve been reading too many books where those with apparent good fortune are swiftly and suddenly brought low.

Specifically, I’ve been immersed in Hilary Mantel’s massive Cromwell trilogy under the tutelage of

Simon Haisell

.¹ Thomas Cromwell rises and rises, but we know that with each triumph he gets closer to his doom.

Cromwell owes everything he has to the capricious King Henry VIII. The caprice of the King and the caprice of life are captured in a tale Henry VIII tells Cromwell about Henry VII, his father.

That prior King kept as a pet a vicious little monkey. One day the monkey got loose and shredded with its sharp teeth and nails a set of the King’s papers that listed various royal penalties and royal rewards. The papers were beyond repair.

Henry VIII is amused by the consequences of this legendary monkey’s antics. He tells Cromwell that but for the monkey,

“… today there are gentlemen in luxury who would have been beggars and…others snug in their parlours who would have been clapped in a strait prison.”

I like to think I’m not superstitious but I am. I worry about the machinations of Fate whether in the guise of a rage-filled monkey causing random havoc or the more intentional Greek Fates determining destinies based on natural order and balance.

The three Fates at work with their threads of destiny

About my granddaughter’s birth I wondered whether Fate might choose to balance my blessings with a nasty surprise. Is that an atavistic Jewish trait or something common to anyone with a mind always on guard against hubris? ² Or maybe that’s what happens when you write and read too many introspective personal essays.

So in the hospital when I saw my daughter so happy and relaxed and lovely and then when I stood over my granddaughter, I cried tears of joy and relief.

Standing there, I thought hard of my late mother Jill because Jill is the middle name that my son-in-law and daughter gave to my granddaughter,³ connecting the generations.

I can’t say I felt my mother’s presence but I did feel her influence. And I knew she and I were in accord that I needed to bless her great-granddaughter.

So I held my granddaughter, just four hours old, and said the priestly blessing with as much authentic faith and humility as I’ve ever given to a prayer.

May the Lord bless and protect you

May the Lord deal kindly and graciously with you

May the Lord bestow favor upon you and grant you peace.

Amen.

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In case you missed it, here is an essay I wrote a year ago. One of my favorites. It’s about the 24 hour period in March, 2020 when New York closed down, my mother Jill died, and my daughter Lauren was married.  

The birth of my granddaughter with the middle name of Jill completes the cycle in the best way possible.

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1. Simon is going to repeat the yearlong read of the brilliant Mantel trilogy in 2025. Each week, Simon provides an essay, equal to Mantel’s artistry, that goes deeper into that week’s reading section. It’s been my all-time best reading experience. Check it out at Simon’s Substack,

Footnotes and Tangents

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2. I realize it takes a certain amount of arrogance to write that I am always on guard against hubris.

3. The baby’s full name is omitted at the request of the parents. I am proud of my daughter for many reasons including her concise summation of her new baby’s journey to freedom: “Shawshank.” Fans of the movie Shawshank Redemption will know the scene she’s referencing.