Mended fences

I spent the morning with Nana in the hospital room, talking about family history. She and Papa have been married for over fifty years, but today I learned that they've known each other their whole lives. Their parents had lived down the street from each other in the same small town their respective ancestors had founded. Their two families came over from Europe in the same boat. Their wedding marked the union of two great families, two parallel paths finally joined into one road. You could say that Nana and Papa have literally been together forever.

I've always believed that love is something that would just make sense. You wouldn't know it until you see it. I can see now that I was wrong in believing there was just one way. In Nana & Papa's case, some times love and marriage is just a natural progression, as if soul mates aren't made, but grown.

Nana used this as a segue way to talk about Grace. I haven't given our relationship much thought lately, given the circumstances. But thanks to Nana, maybe I should. Nana's curiosity on the matter concerns me, but then again, I'm the only one of her grandchildren who isn't married. I need to make it abundantly clear that now is not the time for me. There are times that I wonder if a new relationship is something I really need to be worried about now. Some wounds from the last one are still pretty fresh.

I left the hospital with Henry to go have dinner. We talked for about two hours airing out a lot of what has been left unsaid over the years. Back when we were kids, we were constantly at each other's throats over anything and everything. I guess it took us both thinking about having to lose Papa to realize that we're family, and that we should mend fences while we can.

I asked him what he thought about what Papa told me about being a third generation pain in the ass. He agreed with the assessment. Henry was sixteen when our father died, and he knew a lot more about what was going on than I did...that is to say he knew more about our father than I did. When I think back, I really didn't spend as much time as I should have with him before he died. Henry said that it's sometimes hard to look at me because I am so much like our father.

Once we got back to the hospital, we both went in to check on Nana and on Papa. After a few minutes, I excused myself to go outside to call Grace. She kept asking me about how things were going, and I couldn't really steer the conversation to be about "us". I figure that was for the best, though. I've had too much thinking for one day.