A newborn child signifies what is good in this world — a hope in our future, a connection to our past and a tangible reminder that we all belong to one great, extended family that mostly wants what’s best for its children. …

A little 6-pound, 7-ounce baby has turned our world upside down. Again.

The first grandchild arrived almost 18 years ago — a thrilling, sobering realization then that a little 8-pound boy represented the combined past, present and future of our collective worlds. In the following years, one by one, other children joined our families, each unique: the twin boys born during one of history’s worst snowstorms. The precious granddaughter born after too many miscarriages. The grandson found in an Ethiopian orphanage after four years of preparation, praying, waiting, heartbreak and finally (Hallelujah!) success. The granddaughter who daily opens our eyes to a curiously different world from her special needs point of view.

All of them so unique. All of them so beloved. All of them so longed for.

Eventually, nine grandchildren occupied our hearts, minds and time. Then things quieted down — no more announcements were made, no more expectations. We settled into the mindset that our “next generation” was complete, that these four girls and five boys were our representatives to the future, and into them we would pour whatever we, the senior generation, could possibly give.

Years passed. And then … and then one day we were handed a grainy grey and white picture of a little critter, barely discernible, and were suddenly filled with that curious exhilarating awe that only grandparents feel when they realize another child is destined to join the family herd. We watched that momma endure those nine months of joyful pain and painful joy, culminating with that miraculous rush of effort and emotion, and finally the sound of a newborn’s cry echoing in a hospital hallway.

And now here we are, tethered to this tiny ball of screaming, flailing humankind, and we know instantly we would give our life for her, even though we just met her, because our blood flows in her veins, and her scrunched up face reminds us of our mother, and inside of her from us through her parent is the ageless sum of herself that she inherited from us and our parents and their parents, and so on.

We are madly in love all over again, as deeply as we were with the others, even though we didn’t believe that was possible. And we now have five girls and five boys — our own two basketball teams.

She’ll always be catching up. She is, by far, the youngest of this clan. But we know and they know she’s worth helping along. Because she belongs. She just arrived, and now, forever, she belongs. That’s an extraordinary legacy for a kid who does little more than eat, sleep, fuss and fill her diaper.

But she’ll grow into it.

Like her cousins, she bears the name “grand” in front of her “child” status. What’s more, her coming once again places “grand” in front of our names. It’s serious business to be an influence in the life of such a child, and we don’t take that responsibility lightly. We anxiously recognize that another perfect child has entered this imperfect world. But thanks to vigilant and careful parents and extended families, her cousins are surviving and thriving, and so will she — even after we “grand” parents are gone from this earth. Even then we will live on, made infinite and eternal through this little girl and her cousins.

We remember again that immortality is not so elusive once we stop searching for it in infinite space and find it, instead, in an infant’s face.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.

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