Alvin

I'm not really sure how you mourn a man who was 92 and ready to die. I'm not really sure how you mourn a quiet, hardworking, dairy farmer whose skin sloughed itself off from decades in the sun. I'm sad because he had a strong cleft chin, and what if these go extinct? I'm sad because my grandma hasn't recognized him or anyone else for years, but now how will she stand being alone in the nursing home? I'm sad because my dad still called him 'daddy' and because he was the human version of gravity. Steadfast, solid, strong, serious. He always cried lately. So many of my memories of him are second hand because a shy girl and a shy grandpa never spent much time alone together, but I understand this, and it doesn't stop me from aching over his death, because even in his silence he was the strongest man in the world, and so, so, so good, of the concerted, deliberate, patient variety, the way my own father became in his footsteps. I'm sad because I wouldn't be here without him, and I haven't yet figured out what qualities I've inherited from him, and because this weekend we are saying goodbye to one of the most generous and GOOD (can I stress it more?) people who has ever lived, and definitely I'm sad because doesn't a grandparent dying always make you feel less connected? Another one of my roots isn't here any more. My family will be driving up to the NY/PA border this weekend. I guess this is how it's all meant to go.