“For news of the heart, ask the face.”

Guinean proverb

Ocean City in Philadelphia’s Chinatown was the setting for my maternal grandmother’s birthday. I don’t know how old she is–yes, yes, call me a bad grandson, but it’s true! She’s getting up there in her years and has recently recovered from a flu-like condition. We’re not very close but I still worry about her health.

There is a huge language barrier that has always prevented me from knowing her like I could. Make no mistake–I make no excuses for myself … it just seems like such a shame.

Her jet black hair belies her age. If one were to see her from the back, one might mistake her for a woman half her age. Well, maybe not. She stoops under the burdern of her years. The proof of her life is in the lines that run over her face and the liverspots that bespeckle her skin. Despite her age, there are relics of her youth in the sparkle of her eyes and I can almost hear youthful frolics tumbling through tired words.

My grandmother had ten kids. The three oldest of these produced about seven grandchildren who are more or less around my age–including my brother and I. The younger 3 of the kids have children that are prepubesents ranging from eight to twelve. Of the remaining four, the youngest is not yet married. He has good prospects. The three yet unheard of are the parents of toddlers. These children are beautiful and spend most of their days with our common maternal grandparents.

My grandfather is a serious man, whose age has softened his temperament. He delights in taking his grandchildren on walks around the neighborhood. My grandmother sews and cooks and plays with the youngest children–those who have yet to form sentences. They will surely grow to be wonderful adults. I dream about seeing them married and with families of their own; this pure dream however, is tainted by sadness.

I fear not the prospect of dying. It is the ultimate result of all lives. What I fear above all else is the loss of life. Life is undesribably magnificent. I mourn those that pass not only because of my affection for them, but also because they will miss the boons of vitality. Will my grandparents be able to see my first child? Will they be able to see my cousins form bonds of matrimony? Will my child be able to bounce on his great-grandfather’s knee and laugh that innocent laugh that knows nothing of the troubles that surround him?

It’s incredibly sad to think that the answer might not be yes.