We all know the old saying about things getting tough…the tough get going. But where, exactly, do they go?
It’s been a tough week, and at this point I don’t feel like going or doing much of anything. On January 1, my grandmother (Wolfe’s great-grandmother) passed away. She was 89 years old, had 10 kids, 34 (I think) grandkids and 45 great-grandkids. She lived a good life and was ready to go at the end. But that doesn’t help those of us who are left here.
A few days before she died I spoke with her on the telephone–she had an actual telephone, an old one with the rotary dial–and her last words to me were that I had “a cute baby.” I feel that was her blessing on me, somehow, like in an Old Testament story. Wolfe got to meet her in person one time, over Thanksgiving break, and I’m glad now that we stopped to visit her for a few minutes.
And now the traveling and services are over, and break is over, and it’s back to the normal routines of life. Only I’m not particularly feeling it. I’d like to stay home in my pajamas with Wolfe and my wife and a good book and come out sometime in the summer. I won’t, of course, and I know these mundane daily activities will help over time. I do feel bad for my aunts and uncles, because I’m sure their grief is a magnitude greater than mine.
Life does go on, though. Wolfe is struggling to get his first two teeth. What would you do if bones all of a sudden started poking out of your gums? I, personally, would start freaking out. He’s handling it with just a little crankiness. (Sorry for the quick and jarring transition there, but I couldn’t leave this post on a completely downer note.)
Here’s to better times in the future. We miss you, Grandma.