This is the last image I have of my Grampa Perry, who passed yesterday.
I took this fifteen months ago. Since that time I’ve been near his house in Jefferson on a number of occasions, but never stopped in. Partly because he was very ill. Partly because of complicated family dynamics. In the end, it hardly matters. I’m wrecked with guilt. I’m trying to make some kind of consolation for it, but it’s not really working. I’m grateful that he was able to know my daughter. She is so different now than she was then; it’s selfish to wish that he could have seen her again. The fault in that is all my own, and that is mine to live with now.
I saw a shooting star last night on the ride home from Jefferson; I try to find some symbolism in that.
On a sunny day in October 2008, my grandfather was out for a walk; something I cannot recall having seen him do in a very long time. As grand coincidence would have it, he was captured by Google Earth, immortalizing him in the street view of Route 115B.