My father's brother is dying.
I haven't seen him in a very long time. I'm not sure if my father has either.
I cannot say that I will mourn him, for I did not know him. My memory of him is merely of a tall, thin and dark man who smoked.
What it does is drive home the point for me that my parents are no longer young. Every year, when I come home, I notice little things.
My father's hair is whiter, his movements a little more erratic. My mother seems to grow tired more easily. Both of them eat less and less.
They are not that old. My father is still working, if increasingly fewer hours. My mother needs no help around the house but a maid who comes in once a week, something we've had since I was a child.
But they are no longer the strong, invincible adults of my childhood.
This post came together with the title of this blog. The juxtaposition of mortality and eternity makes my inner wordplay geek squee with joy.
I'm not obsessed with my mortality, though I've always been one of those people who feel that time is running out for them. Not for any particular reason. I just feel it, some days more than most, and today is one such.
But they say that anything you put up on the internet will be there forever. That's why this is here.
Welcome to my eternity.