Rene, Harry and Stanley, circa 1942
Twenty years is a long time.
A lot can happen in twenty years.
You could graduate from college.
You could travel in South America for six months.
You could move to Jerusalem.
You could meet the love of your life.
You could travel together around the world.
You could move back to America.
Get a masters.
Marry the love of your life.
Start a career.
Buy a house.
Have a son.
Have a daughter.
Start a new career.
Have another son.
Sell your house.
Move back to Israel.
Start over.
Twenty years is For. Ever.
And yet it's gone like that. poof.
Twenty years is today.
I was 18.
Eighteen.
Now I'm 38.
It's a long time to be missing your dad.
And an even longer time to be missing your son.
So while I am profoundly sad to have lost my grandmother two weeks ago at age 91, part of me is glad that in my childish vision of the next world, she and my father and my grandfather are together again raising their martini glasses to their legacy. L'chaim guys.
