Too Young
One of my (few) first cousins has died early this morning. I still don't know what to think. It would begin to happen one day, but it still seems too early. When one is young, death is something that happens to grandparents or great-grandparents, or other old people. As we grow, we realize that the next to go are our parents, whether we love them or not. And they start to go. But that is within the scheme of things. You always knew they were going to die someday, even though you thought they might last forever during your childhood. The strangest moment is when death first touches your generation.
I like to think I'm not that old. Even though my birthday was a couple of days ago, I'm still on the right side of fifty. The one time I feel old is when I get out of bed and my back complains. Our daughter is grown up, but she is still very much within the fold, since she is at university and still comes home on weekends and vacations. I only know of one within my circle a year older than me who is a grandfather, and that happened because his daughter and her boyfriend made a mistake at too young an age. Others my exact age, like my brother-in-law, have young children just about to begin primary school. We are not old enough for death to visit.
This cousin lived in Bilbao, and I haven't seen him in a few years. It's been a while since he visited. He liked to live hard and fast. He's had I don't know how many accidents, and has always had the good fortune of coming out unscathed, though the car would travel to the junkyard. He was overfond of wine and associated spirits. He never married, though he had a good heart. He was always defensive of his mother and always tried to help her as much as possible. He liked the good things in life, and that included good food. It seems that that has led in these latter years to the discovery of diabetes. And that discovery seems to have come too late to prevent damage from being done.
I feel mostly for his mother, my aunt. She has always been of an anxious disposition. She has suffered in her life. Soon after she married, she and her husband went to live in Bilbao, where there were more jobs. When her two children were teenagers, her husband died. Some time after, she met and married another good man, only to have him die, too. Her younger son divorced, and, anxious mother and grandmother that she was, she sometimes worried about her grandson when he was with his mother. Now her eldest has died.
Living in Boston, and my cousin in Bilbao, I first heard of him from my parents, though I must have seen him much earlier, only babies don't keep their memories. When he was three he spent a year with my parents, because my aunt and uncle were just getting established in Bilbao. I was born while he was sojourning in our home. My parents told me how he would say, "Tira esa miniña entre as silvas que chora moito!" (Throw that little girl in the briar patch because she cries too much!) They would also tell me how he was scared at night of cats' eyes. He would be outside in the dark, see two yellow luminaries, and run inside, panting. My father would take him down to the taberna, the local bar, where he would sit at the counter and eat peanuts. That's how I like to think of him, as a little boy just three years older than me.
A child with his life before him.
I like to think I'm not that old. Even though my birthday was a couple of days ago, I'm still on the right side of fifty. The one time I feel old is when I get out of bed and my back complains. Our daughter is grown up, but she is still very much within the fold, since she is at university and still comes home on weekends and vacations. I only know of one within my circle a year older than me who is a grandfather, and that happened because his daughter and her boyfriend made a mistake at too young an age. Others my exact age, like my brother-in-law, have young children just about to begin primary school. We are not old enough for death to visit.
This cousin lived in Bilbao, and I haven't seen him in a few years. It's been a while since he visited. He liked to live hard and fast. He's had I don't know how many accidents, and has always had the good fortune of coming out unscathed, though the car would travel to the junkyard. He was overfond of wine and associated spirits. He never married, though he had a good heart. He was always defensive of his mother and always tried to help her as much as possible. He liked the good things in life, and that included good food. It seems that that has led in these latter years to the discovery of diabetes. And that discovery seems to have come too late to prevent damage from being done.
I feel mostly for his mother, my aunt. She has always been of an anxious disposition. She has suffered in her life. Soon after she married, she and her husband went to live in Bilbao, where there were more jobs. When her two children were teenagers, her husband died. Some time after, she met and married another good man, only to have him die, too. Her younger son divorced, and, anxious mother and grandmother that she was, she sometimes worried about her grandson when he was with his mother. Now her eldest has died.
Living in Boston, and my cousin in Bilbao, I first heard of him from my parents, though I must have seen him much earlier, only babies don't keep their memories. When he was three he spent a year with my parents, because my aunt and uncle were just getting established in Bilbao. I was born while he was sojourning in our home. My parents told me how he would say, "Tira esa miniña entre as silvas que chora moito!" (Throw that little girl in the briar patch because she cries too much!) They would also tell me how he was scared at night of cats' eyes. He would be outside in the dark, see two yellow luminaries, and run inside, panting. My father would take him down to the taberna, the local bar, where he would sit at the counter and eat peanuts. That's how I like to think of him, as a little boy just three years older than me.
A child with his life before him.
Loss is loss...for the relation that was, for the relation that wasn't and now will never be. And each year as we age we lose people and are sad and grateful we are living on. Courage.
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