while i was laughing with friends at a bar in portland, or sunday night, my great grandfather, william ward, died in ithaca, ny. he would have been ninety-five in january i was told yesterday. he could barely see or hear, so i was told yesterday. what does one understand at ninety-five and does one's existence feel the same?
since i'm currently not drinking, this glass of water is for you, great-grandpa.