Religion, philosophy, greeting cards, self-help books—they all tout the power of love. Being a chronic and earnest spiritual seeker, I have tried to love selflessly in all my significant relationships. I came closest to feeling and activating unconditional love as a mother. I frequently have given it as a friend and a sister, sometimes as a colleague. I fail at it at often (okay, daily) as a wife.

But with my grandson, blissful and bountiful unconditional love flows from my every cell. I have so much of it I fear I'll drown the poor little guy, so I have to give the excess away. I put Will in the stroller and parade up the street to get my morning coffee, exuding grandmotherly abundance. I give the woman begging in front of the bank several dollars; I cheer up the grumpy barista guy; I buy flowers for my son and daughter-in-law. When I am across the continent, at home in New York, I can still feel the chains of love that connect me to my grandson. I'd do anything for the little guy, and if it weren't for those pesky parents, I might even overdo it. But that's my job this time—to celebrate the mere existence of another human being; to focus on what's already perfect about him; to help him see himself as I see him. What a gift to experience—at least once in this lifetime—the full power of unconditional love. And it feels as good as the saints and prophets advertise it.


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