My thoughts tonight are sort of stuck on how temporary things are. I was looking at some pictures of my father and mother, of some cousins, nieces. Some from a few years ago, some from 15 or 20 years ago. Then some pictures of my grandmother from 20 or 30 years ago. There’s one of my dad’s family from a good 70 years ago or so. It’s probably the last one when they were all together. His dad died shortly after. Then his sister. Only 3 of the 8 people in that picture are living today. How odd it must be for my dad to look at that picture and think about those days. Long gone. Most of his family dead. A very short period of his life, but among the most impactful.
My thoughts turn to my childhood and my brother and mom and dad. Hard to imagine those days sometimes. Even looking at pictures sometimes feels as though I’m looking at someone else’s childhood. Surely that childhood could not have produced this adult with this life and these memories. Right? But it is very real. And I gave thought in those days to what now might be like. I was pretty far off.
Now, here I lay. In my dad’s bed on an unplanned but needed visit to see my mom. I think of how quickly my brother and I grew up. How quickly my parents grew old. How quickly my kids will grow up. Are growing up. It’s all so temporary and I am struggling a little with grasping on to something. Maybe not something permanent. But something not changing so god damn fast.