I was in the middle of a texting debate about the Hobby Lobby ruling when I got the news that my grandfather died.
5 trips to India x 5 weeks each = 25 weeks, the time I have spent with him
(52 weeks x 27 years) + 40 weeks = 1444, my age in weeks
(25/1444)100 = 1.73%, his direct involvement in my life
I felt nothing; our relation felt nominal, obligatory. But my dad had planned a final trip to see him before he died, and his flight was today. He missed his father’s passing by 6 hours and 2 plane rides.
For 6 hours, we distracted my dad and told him that the trip was still worth it. We sat at a Chick-Fil-A outside the airport and reminisced, reflecting on the fleeting nature of life, saying “Poof!” like Slughorn, and making fart jokes. We sat together as a family, forgetting our usual tension and bitterness in order to support Dad.
Thanks for those 6 hours, Velidaddy.*
(150)
*My childish bastardization of “Valya Daddy,” my dad’s literal Malayalam translation of “grandfather.”