Mortal is Time

My father died early, and his death colored my view of life in such a way that erased my cognizance that one's life can be long and full, spanning multiple completely different lives even. My grandfather died at 85 when I was in primary school. Nothing of this fact seemed odd until I was old enough to realize that I, the de facto first grandchild in the family, was only halfway through primary school when he was 85. It may not sound particularly odd to a younger generation, but back when people got marriage proposals at 17, the math was terribly off. My family, the only family I had ever known, was actually his second. Or second and a half, because he also had multiple liaisons during his marriage with my grandmother. My mother's assortments of cousins are actually her siblings. It was common for people to care for their relative's children when they did not have their own. He had another life on a different continent. He was of different class, before war forced him to abandon…