So Jenni’s still recovering. Getting better, but it’s slow–much slower than I know she’d like, but she’s making progress. We got confirmation Friday that she does indeed have parvovirus, which helps only to the extent that we now know what she has. But the treatment continues to be absolutely nothing–let it run its course, and in a couple of weeks, she’ll be back to normal.
But because this has been running for a while, and has put her behind in her class, and just generally tired, and sore and wiped out to the point where longer car rides would just be too difficult, the kids and I made the voyage on Saturday to Rochester to wish my grandfather a happy birthday.
My grandfather turned 90 on Saturday–yes, his party was actually on his birth date. This is particularly remarkable, because he himself will tell you that he didn’t really live a healthy life and take care of himself like he should have for a stretch of years there.
But I’m so fortunate that my kids have had two great grandparents now live so long into their lives. Sure, the dynamic has been different–my grandfather was sort of a great teacher in my life more than anything else: he had an overriding curiosity and the fearlessness that would make him discover so many things that he would share with everyone.
The family was gathered for a birthday lunch on Saturday, with the requested centerpiece being memories from as many people as possible. And beyond the stories shared with the whole crowd were the stories shared at each table–especially the “men’s table,” where grandpa, dad, two uncles, one cousin and Patrick and I sat. There were a whole stream of recollections, all through lunch. And it struck me midway through the gathering: I hope that some day, my family could gather and share so many of their own memories of our life together. I hope my life isn’t so mundane as to not have any of those fun, unique, memorable times.
So, once again, happy birthday, grandpa. Thanks for sharing 42 of your years with me and my family.
Love to all.
See you tomorrow.