It's about noon on a Thursday in late December, and I'm sitting at the same spot I used to write in this same blog many, many years ago. I'm alone at my parents house as they are currently in the hospital for a health situation with my father.
My parents' house always smells familiar to me. They have these really well lit bathrooms with mirrors that show your face in a warmer light than usual. It feels comforting, and I've been looking into those same mirrors for a long time. I've grown up a lot, and that's evident by looking back through the many years I have documented in this blog. I'm a father now, and that is something which a former me could never have seen coming.
Something familiar.. it's not just the smell, it's the way the walls reach the corners of the doorway down the only hallway in my house. It's a ghostly passage upon which my grandmother used to slowly carry her walker on her way to Thanksgiving dinner. She used to slurp turkey necks, and I'm sure it was something she took with her from the days of the Depression. We have a picture of my father's father's family which shows our history as Italian-American immigrants. It's across from a picture of Jesus welcoming somebody into heaven with open arms. On that same picture there is a photo of my grandmother, the ones they pass out at funerals with a short prayer.
I didn't leave this house until I was about twenty years old. I took classes at a community college for the first two years following high school, so my history of this house extends a little longer than it would have otherwise.
Then one day I packed my things and moved to Detroit.
Then one day I came back home, completely alone, worried about my father.
I remember when I first left Turkey to move back to the USA. Gosh.. I'm listening to a song right now that takes me right back to those days. It's called 'Last Life', and it screams to me sometimes. I never saw any of this coming. I have a son now. I'm married now, and I'm a professor. I have a deep and looming feeling that I've been mistaken for somebody else, and these blessings are not supposed to be mine to enjoy. It's called imposter syndrome, and it is always sneaking up on me.
Sometimes I feel forgotten. I'm not really upset about it though, I just feel left behind. I guess that's just an inevitability of life, or maybe I'm simply adjusting to the conclusion of my days of being young and cute. It's not about me any more. I don't want anything. I don't need anything else. I only need my family and a little bit of faith that we are here for a reason. I don't even need a reason to be here; I found that reason on September 14, 2020.
And so, here I am, a relatively new father who is watching his own father turn into an old man. His grandson loves him so much, and in that love I see a sparkle of hope in grandpa's eyes.
