5 months pregnant. Queens, New York.
My grandfather died last week. We lived on opposite coasts my entire life and I never really knew him at all. Kelsey, my dad and I flew to New York to be with my grandmother and the rest of the family and I realized while standing in his living room that it was my first time in his home. That struck me as somehow much more tragic than death itself. This man was flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone and I didn't even know what he had done for a living or what made him happy. The thumping, hiccuping life swimming in my (now ridiculously huge) belly obviously makes me ruminate on family connections in a way that I never have before and I vowed, standing there in that strange house among strangers, with only strands of DNA connecting us, that Kaya would never experience that. Of course, with the charming, oversharey co-dependence that my siblings and I enjoy, Kaya will probably be able to tell you, at any given moment, what underpants her Aunt Kelsey is currently wearing and what her Uncle Kirk cooked for dinner the previous night.
