This article by Barry originally appeared in the Globe and Mail.

Barry, Elaine, Karen, and Kayla at the theatre to catch a production of Mama Mia.

A look at the unique feelings of fathers for their daughters who are now mothers.

It was an amazing experience the other day when Kayla (my 30-month-old granddaughter) crawled into my arms, tucked her head on my chest and arms, and snuggled down for the next hour. No other happening could provide a grandparent with such contentment and calm.

I recalled that less than three years ago you hesitatingly informed me over dinner that you were expecting. I knew then that you required my unquestioning support for the challenge.

I suspect, though, that my internal reaction was similar to most fathers: Are you ready for this? (As though we were.) Have you done all the other things you wanted to do? (As though we had.) And of course: Are you feeling alright? (Fathers, who have not personally experienced the mysteries of pregnancy, tend to focus initially on their daughter’s welfare.)

Most fathers don’t dream or have visions about their daughters being pregnant; indeed most of our energy was focused on making sure that didn’t happen. Our efforts were directed at giving you the possibility of being whatever you wanted to be: a professional dancer, an Olympic swimmer, a teacher or someone who would challenge the glass ceiling on gender equality.

As I held Kayla in my arms, I remembered those rare moments when you slowed down enough to fall asleep in a similar way. Or when you decided to skip the crawling stage and go straight for walking — running, even — or to doing cartwheels up and down the stairs. Or those incredible years of activities: soccer, T-ball, ringette, track, dance and swim. I recall how you acquired new “best friends” at each of these and how they remained part of your life. Most of all, I remember your remarkable energy and joy for living even in your earliest years.

There were, of course, other moments less precious and more worrisome, but they came with the territory of parenting. And as the years have gone by, they have blurred and faded away, lost in the pride for a daughter who has become a special young woman — and a mother.

I remember receiving the call from your hubby that Kayla had just arrived and that both of you were doing well. Although he had phoned within minutes, I remember I thought this goofy father-thought: Something was wrong here. If you were in the hospital for a procedure, I should have been there with you.

For fathers, there are certain benchmarks when the recognition of your life’s journey becomes more apparent. An undeniable crunch occurs when you become a grandparent for the first time. What happened to those past 50-plus years? (Then, of course, you remember and realize it was quite a lot of work and you become somewhat more comfortable with this new reality.)

I remember looking at Kayla that day, lying quietly in my arms and realizing how proud I was of your approach to this change in your life. From the moment you knew of your pregnancy you set out to ensure that you did everything within your control to give Kayla a healthy start to life.

I recalled how, on the day after Kayla’s birth, I returned to the hospital with your stepmom and you did something that was so typically you. You placed one-day-old Kayla into your stepmom’s arms and turned her into a belonging grandmother. The result was a bonding that was instant and strong.

For the rest of us, a new role was assigned that becomes as important as any other when we’re transformed into grandpa and grandma, nanna and pappa, oma and opa, aunt and uncle, and so many more relationship permutations.

For any parent, it is always rewarding to observe your child in a new shining light and this was true as I watched your every effort with Kayla. Again you set out to educate yourself about the different stages of Kayla’s development and her changing needs as she moved through her early days, weeks and months. I observed you battle fatigue with uncommon grace as you ensured your child’s needs were met with certainty and nurturing love.

I watched as you wrestled with the complex balancing act of new mother, wife and self, but always determined that Kayla was your priority.

I noticed how you played with her, receiving warm smiles for your funny faces and introduced her to music and dance, knowing that it will bring joy to her life. You understood through education and instinct that so much was going on within Kayla during these months as you combined the role of protector/nurturer/teacher.

You read to her, knowing that appearances were deceiving and that her mastery of language would be enhanced by these early efforts. One remarkable day after another is now occurring in her communication and understanding of language. What a joy it is to see her run toward you with her smiling face and sparkling eyes.

What strikes me are your gifts to Kayla that are already visible as larger outcomes. She has learned to trust her world and is comfortable with the multitude of adults in her life. She has been allowed to express herself creatively because you encourage her to exercise more control over her play (under your watchful eye). You have provided her with enrichment in so many diverse areas while providing a backstop of protective discipline to her life.

Most of all, I am so impressed with the early gift to Kayla of energy and joy for life that has always been you. These gifts are apparent every day in the gentleness and radiating love of your interactions with her. They are observed in Kayla as I watch her enjoy the animals at the zoo and her ease with new “buddies” at the park.

I remember how you returned home that day with Kayla asleep in my arms and laughed because I had remained motionless for close to an hour. As you took Kayla gently from me, it was a passage in time: it was a realization that my daughter was now a remarkable mother. I’m not quite sure how it happened, but I know that it has been a delightful journey, and will continue to be so.

Thank you for being who you are, my daughter and the mother of Kayla. Happy Mother’s Day from Dad/Grandpa, with love.

For more on navigating separation and the holidays, see all posts from the blog tagged with Holidays.