Right at 44

Dear Grandpa E. B.;
Dear Grandpa George;

Some cacophony still; still, some eyes over the waves already and I’m only 44 years old.

Thanks to both you grandfathers for what you passed forward. I will proceed from here, whole. Sometimes with a nice tie on, sometimes without pants.

I will use as little as necessary to do the good I need to see. I will eat up the joy before me and I will watch myself yearn for the joy out of reach.

I will drink gin and I will eat canned fish. People will note that I listened to them with compassion and enthusiasm but that I called bullshit when I saw it.

I generally will do what I say I am going to do. If I don’t I will admit it. Explanation will not be excuse. I will comprehend what my failure caused to those relying on me.

In moments, I will notice the mottled sky, the wind marks on the river surface, the light on a facet of an IKEA glass. I will slow myself in each of these moments and love that catch of awareness even if it comes upon me in a bad-news CPA office.

Grandfathers, I will remember what was transmitted from you to me, I know that it came with deep personal love. I will honor those acts and beliefs that were important to you, that you did as your best acts of love and joy and good.

Some acts and ways of yours I must reject. They did not know of the world I live in. None of us could survive further in those frozen thoughts. Were you here, you would not stand for the injustice and destruction they would bring if they were allowed. There is no love in maintaining them, just fear.

That which I must release I will first hold in my hands, considering the love it came from. I will consider you, and then discard it.