they’ve come back from florida without my grandfather’s death in their hands. weary and exhausted, not exactly resigned, trying to be there, trying to be resigned, but the old man is still breathing. even after they took him of the ventilator. even after they signed the DNRs.

even in death there are other obligations. things that keep us away from each other, things that keep us going. if not for work, it would be waiting full time, 24/7 for their father to die. 24/7 of waiting, of noticing the dip in the numbers, of hopeful and fearful realizations, “is he going to go now? he’s going to go soon. he hasn’t gone yet…” 24/7 of trekking back and forth the tampa suburbs. 24/7 of waiting for that last call that will tell them that’s finally over, that it’s almost over they better come soon, it’s almost time.

but no, none of that. back to reality, back to new york, to the autobody business and the cars and the adjusters and the customers who’ve been waiting much too long for their cars. back to ill-fitting parts and paint booths and that one worker who’d rather stare at the cracks in the wall rather than ask what to do next.

not a distraction, a way of getting on with things, a way of getting back together with the living when you’re waiting for your father to die.