My Grandpa Forgets Who I Am
A few days ago I visited my grandfather in hospital. He has Alzhemier's—a degenerative disease that usually starts slowly and gets worse over time. I thought I was prepared to see him. I knew chances were slim that he'd actually recognize me.
He didn't. As a matter of fact, he had no idea that he even had grandchildren. But he was excited that somebody came to visit him. I tried to explain to him who I was. But after he told me multiple times that he didn't have grandchildren, I gave up. And my heart broke into a million little pieces.
I was tired of explaining things to him. So I just smiled. He smiled back. It's a genuine smile. Like a long time ago, when he'd take me by the hand and made this big world a little bit less scary for me. Now I have to take his hand.
We sat in silence for a little while, before he told me to call my grandma. This was the first time I had tried so hard to hold back tears. My grandma died four years ago and he didn't remember. He thought she was stuck on her way to pick him up.
My grandpa used to be a strong, hard-working man. He was the person you turned to when you needed your car fixed, your tires changed or something heavy to be carried. Sadly, that man left this world a long time ago, and left behind a man that is lost and scared.
I want to help him. I want to make him feel better. I want to tell him about his old life, and how great it was. So I sat with him and I held his hand, and every once in a while I told him how good he looked and how much I liked the color of his shirt and how it brought out the blue in his eyes. I told him that my grandma was on her way whenever he asked about her, and I made sure the glass in his hand was always filled with water.
I can't take away his pain. I can't help him remember. I can't make the disease go away. All I can do is hold on to the memories—hold on for both of us.
