Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's BĂȘte Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Tuesday, October 18, 2005


I grew up living summers with my parents and my mom's parents all in the same cottage that my maternal grandfather's parents built. My dad's parents died at 46 and 56, Grandma Betty when Dad was 18 and Grandpa Bro when Dad was 28 and I was 3. I was close to my mom's folks; Grandma died at 86 in 1994 and Grandpa died at 91 in 1999.

Yesterday it occurred to me -- all the time I knew them, my grandparents missed their own parents. I knew this, subliminally, but it never really struck my heart -- how lucky I felt around the summer dinner table with 3 generations every night and sometimes aunts and uncles and often friends from any one of the generations. But as abundant as that felt, there's always already somebody missing.

Human condition, yeah. Here's a toast -- to absent loved ones.
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