Day 1751: Pig Roast

Our good friends welcome us into their huge extended family for their annual pig roast.  Their daughter and son-in-law host it at their home in Rochester and arrange for all the food, a band, heaters, tables, chairs, lavatories.   I marvel at how far family members travel to attend.   Dallas, Boston, Cleveland, Long Island, Buffalo.   Four sisters, two brothers, their spouses, children, grandchildren, in laws and friends.

At the center of the commotion: the patriarch.  Sitting with his feet snug against the heater, a beer in one hand and snacks in the other.  The family takes turns greeting him.  Grandpa! Dad! Great grandpa!  Some of them he recognizes, a few he says, "I know you!" and hugs them. No names, though.  He knows he belongs there, but his eyes cloud with confusion.  

He asks me to tell him a story and I tell him about the time we traveled to Alaska together.  We ate dinner every night, went on excursions. He and Steve talked about their years in the army, but he doesn't remember any of it.  I tell him about our trip to Australia and he says he never knew anyone who went there, but our friend and her daughter went last year.

His daughter scoops him up early to head for home, to protect him from further stresses.  It is terribly hard on all of them to watch him deteriorate day by day and know that he will never improve.

We left early, too and fought the wind all the way home.  The clouds look a bit like snow clouds, don't they?