On April 14, 1971, my great-grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding jubilee.
I learned this thanks to the newspaper. Someone sent me the article from The Call — the paper of record at the time —detailing the event, which I apparently attended at the ripe old age of two months.
It was quite the affair, with friends and relatives attending from as far away as Connecticut and Montreal.
I wish I could go back in time and witness the occasion and see my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles in that moment of joyous celebration.
Though the amount of second-hand smoke filling the room was probably unfathomable.
I grew up next door to my grandparents, and my great-grandfather lived with my grandfather — his son — until his death.
I remember Great Grandpa well. I have no recollection of my great grandmother, so she must’ve passed away sometimes after this party and before I became conscious of my surroundings. Great Grandpa remained permanently perched in a large chair in front of a table piled with papers, books, and magazines.
I’m sure he left the chair from time to time, but I have no memory of it.
I remember him as a sweet old man who was always willing to talk and loved to ask me questions.
I was thrilled when a friend sent me this newspaper article — featured on a historical Facebook page for my hometown of Blackstone, MA. Absent this newspaper clipping, I wonder if anyone remembers the party anymore. My father and his surviving brother and sister were likely in attendance, but do they recall a party that happened 53 years ago?
Therein lies the tenuous nature of life. Enormous effort and planning went into a glorious celebration that soon became irrelevant and forgotten.
I hate that.
I hate it so very much.
I’m happy my great-grandparents enjoyed what sounds like a splendid day of celebration.
I’m pleased to know I was in attendance, though I was less than 60 days old.
But I’m pained by how quickly it has faded into the past. How certainly it will someday be forgotten forever.
I yearn for more permanence in this world.
It’s probably why I tell so many stories.
