An entry from Thurston’s Log on May 27, 2005:
Dear Axis of Stevil,
I apologize for not writing sooner, but I have been in the process of moving. Between daily journeys to find myself and the joy of transporting box after box to the new “crib”, I have hardly had time for writing. A few weeks ago, a close associate and I relocated to another neighborhood that we believe to be more suitable to our special needs. We have less space in the new place but we didn’t need so much room to begin with. Even after we were fully moved in, we still have not managed to get completely organized. Little things (i.e. laziness) have prevented us from using free time to get situated. Since it is only the two of us and our pet, we are not too worried. We do not plan on having as many business meetings in our new home.
Now that we’re up to date on my recent life, I’d like to address a concern of mine. I have noticed recently that the health of my grandfather, Ulysses B. Pig (U.B. to his friends), has begun to spiral downward. In truth, this has been going on for some time now, but distance and denial have helped to mask the seriousness of the issue. Grandfather was my only male role-model during my younger years. He was a man of few, but very important, words. His stories were thought provoking and fascinating. The pig used to have a superb memory for detail. During his time in World War II, he used to get drunk off of bets. His friends could introduce him to a man who would give him his name and any random word of his choosing. If at any point in the night, that man asked my grandfather what his name and words was, and he could say it correctly, well my grandfather would win a drink. Even several years later, when approached by one of these gentlemen and asked what his name and word was, he could still answer. Amazing. Lately, his memory has nearly abandoned him. He is not the same man anymore. Every once in a while, I see a glimpse of the brilliant inventor and the fascinating man he used to be. Then, in a flash, he is a hollow shell with a confused countenance. His dwindling pride is depressingly evident. It pained me to hear from a phone call that he is looking worse and worse. “Any day now,” my grandmother whispered. She is not the most tactful of pigs, but at least she caught herself and refused to say any more in his presence (not like he could hear her anyways).
I guess what I am trying to say is that my journey has been recently hampered by this realization. While I my aim is to create new experiences, new memories, I am hindered by the constant worry of becoming my grandfather: losing precious memories and losing myself. I took this break to work on myself and to become a better person. I wanted to build up a resevoir of great memories to look back on. I wanted to be able to look back years later with a content smile and know I lived. My recent thoughts, though, have been more concerned with the years just before the “end.” If I am to end up like my grandfather, what good are the memories I have so lovingly created? If I won’t be able to recall the people and the events that meant so much to my personal growth, what good is this sabbatical of mine? I am still working through these thoughts. I’d love to be able to rise above the depressing situation, but at this point in time, I’m still coming to terms with the finite life of a great man before it catches me unaware.
I still maintain that life should go on. I still believe that one should live life to the best of his or her capabilities. This is just one of the many self-doubting thoughts that I need to grow from. This is just another obstacle in my life.
Sincerely, Thurston Z. Pig
If you'd like to keep reading we highly recommend It Is Rusty Nail Season or What is the legal process I have to go through to change my name to Steve permanently?.
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