Thoughts about procrastination.
Yesterday a big piece of my history and my family passed away (an expression that I like and at the same time loathe, because it’s so appropriate and tasteful yet so passive and anticlimactic to describe the act of one ceasing to exist by gently drifting into oblivion). Samuel Carofino, AKA Pappap, my mother’s father, died yesterday morning (May 9) in Ellwood City, PA.
I’ve been meaning to call. Meaning to write. Meaning to visit. Nearly three years have past, and I’d wager the same number of phone calls have been made the whole time.
The last time I saw him, I knew it could really be the last time. But there was so much to say. I wanted to know more about his childhood, about his parents, his parents’ parents, life as a first generation American, his favorite foods, how much wine he made and what was his technique. So many things that I’m thinking of now that I should have thought of during the past 25 years of my life, when I had him so easily accessible at the other end of the phone line.
This is how it works. You’re young until you’re not. You love until you don’t. You try until you can’t. You laugh until you cry. You cry until you laugh. And everyone must breathe until their dying breath. – Regina Spektor
I’m sad I wasn’t there to see him at the end. I’m sad that my mom has to go through this alone. I’m sad that I can’t be with the rest of my family and go to his funeral. But most of all, I’m sad that I procrastinated. The Spanish are famed for their idea of “mañana”, they’re notorious for putting things off until tomorrow (though I can say that reputation is not always 100% true, I’ve met plenty of efficient and punctual Spaniards… but I digress). I want to cherish the time I have left with my one remaining grandparent, and when I go to my cousin’s wedding in August, where I was hoping to see him again, I want to learn about my grandpa, see more into his life, visit his old house, and cherish the memories I had with him when I was young. Until then.