Wilbur and Rex

My grandfather and my father.

One died when I was 22. The other, still unbelievably, died only five years later. How either of those things are fact is still a shock to me at times. I mean, I'm not supposed to live in a world without Wilbur and Rex in it. But I do.

I'm not sure why they have been on my mind so much recently. Perhaps it is because I am really indescribably happy these days ~ for the first time in so many years, possibly as many years as they have been gone ~ and it's weird to be this happy and not be able to pick up the phone and share it with them. Perhaps because I have a birthday coming up. 41. And I am rapidly approaching living without them as long as I lived with them. Perhaps because the adventures are so cool right now and they would love them, and would love living them along with me, so very, very much. Maybe because I am loved and I love as much as I once was/did when they were in my everyday world.

But I know I have been thinking of them recently, more than usual, and missing them but in a good way, not the painful, heart-wrenching way is has been in the past. Lithus asked me who the three of us were to each other. First, it seems impossible to me that Lithus doesn't know. He knows everything about me; how can he not know this one, most important of all things? But second...how do I answer that question? Who were Wilbur and Rex and Charlie to each other? 

They made me who I am. First and foremost, I am their granddaughter and their daughter. Everything good about me comes, directly or indirectly, from one or both of them. We were the three generations of us. Other than that, I can't help you. You either saw it and knew it; you understand that statement instinctively; or...I leave you confused and in the dark because there is no way to describe who the three of us were to each other. Luckily for me, Lithus understood instinctively. There's a reason he's my partner, after all.

So I live the latest chapter in my adventure, overlooking the city lights of Anchorage of all places, and I hear their incredulous laughter in the distance ("Alaska? Are you serious? Do you know how cold it is up there?"  "You have to send me pictures. You will, won't you, Charlie?"). And I trust in the man who loves me now and wonder at the fact that I love him back, and know the men who loved me first would be so pleased and love him, too. And I write romance novels and laugh at myself because I am so not a romance novelist and know how amused and proud they would be of me and how embarrassed to know so many of my characters are based on the relationships they had with the women they loved and married and dedicated their lives to.

And I miss them. In a happy, melancholy, bittersweet way that is overridden by the fact that I am honored to have known them, honored to have been the final piece in the puzzle that was the three of us. But mostly, I love them still, and am a grateful granddaughter and daughter, even all these years later.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.