Papa grew up with six siblings: four sisters and two brothers. The first sibling to go was his youngest brother, who was killed in Vietnam in 1972. I’m named after him but never met him. It was about thirteen years before the next sibling passed, Papa’s older brother, who had cancer and died in the mid-eighties. And then there three and a half decades before another sibling passed, followed by another sibling just a year or two later.

And so now there are three of them: a younger sister, Aunt D, who visited Sunday, and the first-born of the entire group of seven, who visited today. Aunt Y doesn’t get out much, and the last time she was at our house was for Papa’s birthday, probably close to a decade ago. We all used to meet at Aunt D’s house for Thanksgiving, but the last time we did that must have been five or more years ago. The last time all three of them were together was at Nana’s funeral. What a sad thought that that might indeed be the last time the three surviving siblings are together. But I guess that’s the nature of reunions as we all get older.