My daughter Emma has sent me a lot of cute photos of Robin, which I have shared with you. This one got to me in a particular way, it made me think of the bittersweet passage of time. There is no point in lamenting life, or change, or death.

This time, the photo isn’t just about a cute baby. It’s about the evolution of a young person, a young woman. She is wearing jeans, not diapers, and standing up with the help of a chair. She still has her radiant grim, the sense she projects of a warm and loving spirit. Photos don’t lie, at least not to me.

Emma suggested a couple of weeks ago that it’s time for me to get down to New York City again and see my granddaughter, but I balk at it a bit. These hit-and-run visits are lovely, and i enjoy them, but it is not the same as really knowing someone or being a part of their lives.

In a sense, they seem pro forma to me, self-conscious and hurried. How well can we get to know one another in a few hours? I’ve never been at ease with ritual or obligation, and there is something of both in the drop-in fuss over the bay grandparent visit? Who is really kidding who?

Relationships built on obligation are hollow. The truth is that we just don’t live  very close to one another, why denyt the reality of that?

But I also understand that one of my problem’s – not hers – has been a lifelong struggle to attach, to let people get close, to trust intimacy. So many people share this issue, but it has been a crippler for me, at least until Maria, who broke through the wall and cross the moat.

So I need to work harder on this, I do love Robin and looking at this photo, she isn’t just a cuddly baby any more but a developing person I would like to get to know. Perhaps this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m going down to the city on Sunday to see her.

In this photo, Robin is speaking to me, calling to me. Time to visit.