90
Today is my grandfather’s 90th birthday. The majority of my extended family made the pilgrimage to DC to pay their respects to the clan patriarch… there’s a filial sort of quality to this reunion. There’s a palatable sense of obligation and deep respect for someone so old, wise, experienced. Family from Connecticut to South Carolina made the trek to DC, to simply sing, slice some cake, and reminisce.
I am in NYC. I decided not to make the four hour trip to see my grandfather. I suppose I don’t see the gravity of the situation (yet)… I just saw him last wednesday, and making such a trip seemed kind of arbitrary considering the circumstances. This feeling, it’s difficult to explain… our culture puts emphasis on our base-10 numeric system, so things like 10, 50, and 100 are big anniversaries. With this considered, 90 would be a decently important year for a human, also because my grandfather might not make it another year.
I feel like a lazy traitor, a terrible grandson, a generally bad human being. I’ve failed to pay due respect to this great man, my blood relative, someone who has cared for me since I was very little.
I called home and wished him well etc, but I could hear the sadness in his voice “I understand why you wouldn’t be able to make it, thanks for the call.”
A phone can’t send a hug.
