I should rejoice.
In his impact on lives. His selflessness.
His vigor and youth in old age.

My grandpa died today.

If I had to describe the way that I feel in one word.  

Guilty.

I should have twenty years of excuses, but

I have not a one.  

When Grandma died. I said I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t let the same thing happen.

I wouldn’t let Grandpa die and not see him.

I would see him at least one more time. I am a liar.

I’ve traveled what seems like forever but always away.

Never in his direction. And I wonder now.

If this laundry that I’m doing. Is one of the excuses.

I mean, laundry has to be done. It can’t wait.

Just like death couldn’t wait. So damn impatient!

This loading can’t wait. Handful of clothes

After handful. How many times have I done laundry?

And put off seeing Grandpa. The tears jump.

Desperately off my face running away from my heart.

Right into the machine. They would rather die in fabric.

Because they are a product of me, they hate me like I hate me

You were always an afterthought. Sure, I’ve written of you.

in retrospect,

I should have doggy paddled across the Atlantic to see you.

To embrace your face. To kiss you.

Did you think that I’d forgotten you? I’ll never know.

No matter how true. I’ll label these tears hypocritical.

The vodka sitting in glass on the edge of the washer

Can’t stay around me either. Nothing can.

I am repulsive and everything inhumane.

I am ashamed and angry. Fuck these tears.

Fuck the vodka. They are my Grandpa all over.

Leaving me. I close the lid to block the cycle.

Spiraling. And after moments of reminiscing,

I feel at peace, at least in beautiful memories.

And in this selfishness. I haven’t stopped to wonder.

How does she feel behind her composure?

He is her father. I desperately need to see her.

Wait. I can’t remember if I used any detergent.