Silent consequence

It was the case today
that my grandchild refused
to meet me with a hug,
our usual way of greeting
and finding connection,
and I had done no more
than be there as I always am.

These are the fleeing moments
of being with a child who
grows and changes, and follows
the whims of preference that
shift from day to day and
week to week across the span
of growing up in this challenging age.

But still, though I understand the whim,
the sense of being no more then
an object in her world was real.

In that moment,
in this house she has known
since birth,
I was, I keenly felt,
an object of no consequence in
a room, in a house, in a suburb
where nothing more is said and
life flows on and on as it always
does, and this moment of silent
consequence for me merely passes
away like all our lives in the end.