It’s a weird thing living with your 93 year old grandfather. He’s home alone all day & when you’re home with him you start feeling what he’s feeling because it’s the only energy in the house. When he’s sad or feels trapped, you do. When he’s whistling and singing to jazz, you want to sing and listen to jazz with him.

I feel like I sometimes can’t do anything.

I feel bad to leave.

I sometimes don’t know what to say at the kitchen table while he’s so quiet.

I take him to the foot doctor and he tells me they massaged his foot and cut off a callus from the bottom of his toe.

I tell him I’m going out and he says , “you should stay home with that cough.” and I say I’m restless in the house if I stay and he says, ” At least make yourself some tea” and I say okay, well is there anything you need before I leave? and he says, “I’d like some tea.”


He’s going to New York probably for the last time in his life in a few weeks with my mom and dad to see both his wives graves & I’ll be home alone thinking about him being there, doing just that.

He’s having a hard time walking.

He’s funny and such a wise guy.

He tells me stories from the war like how one time he was in a trench in Italy in a field with one home around. He was in the trench with a group of men & out of nowhere a man came running toward them with a bottle of wine. He gave it to my grandfather as a “welcome” & “thank you”. My grandfather looked at the bottle and it read “Schenectady, New York”. That’s where my grandfather was from  & the Italian had a New York accent. He wasn’t Italian, but a gift from whom ever knows best.

I want to go to Austria because when he heard the war was over he was on a hill crossing from Austria to Germany over the Danube River.

Greece, because he’s never been to Greece.


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