On Saturday, I came across something from my grandfather. He's not someone who was a part of our lives, other than the wake of baggage that he passed along. The last time I saw him was about twenty-five years ago. I cornered him, asking questions, trying to get to the truth of some of the stories. He waved me off in his growly way.
On Sunday, I learned that he had died the day before.
That afternoon I went looking for fabric to cover the last corner of "uncertainty". I landed on this, loud and obnoxious, named "Journey". I think it was meant to be joyful, I latched onto the map aspect of it, then as I looked closer, began seeing things in it- storms, sea monsters, sea-sickness.
There was this moment, and I can't find the right words for it, but an overwhelming moment, of beginning to let it all in, when I put my hands on it all, and began to shake- from all of the broken and lost pieces of the story, from sadness of not feeling sad, for this man that is gone.
Some manipulation is taking place, making it part of my odyssey for truth and understanding.
Rex, he was a fisherman who lived to be ninety-eight. I wonder what his story was? How did he get from there to here?
