Fear and sadness consumed me as I was driving myself to go visit my Grandfather. Fearful of facing the reality of what age does to a person. A person you love. Sadness for what used to be and isn't anymore. I was selfishly contemplating wether I should even go or not. After all, he would never even remember I went, that's what Alzheimer's does to the brain. Not only would he not remember my visit, he would also not remember who I am as I sat by his side.
I was battling two oppositions. The past, and the future. How it was, and how he is now. The space in-between. Underneath the tears drenched in fear, was my smile. A smile brought on from recalling and reminiscing Saturday's we spent together. Saturdays that involved yoo-hoos, pushes on swings, rounds we made to the relatives, taxi rides in the pool, matinees, walks around castle island, teaching me how to bike, yard sales, fudge, shopping at building 19, duck boats, building forts, happy meals, driving his car at the age of 9, museums, egg sandwiches with mustard, train rides, Boston, Nat King Cole.... god I could go on and on. He was my weekly Santa Clause on a Saturday. I don't think the word 'no' was in this mans vocabulary. Now I know where I get that from.
As I walked towards his room I saw a familiar silhouette by the bay window in the hallway. There he was, staring out, beyond, into the blue New England sky. I walked up behind him, placed my hand on his shoulder and said "Its a beautiful day isn't it?" He turned and smiled his familiar smile, he looked into my unfamiliar eyes and replied "It sure is, do I know you?"
I sat in the windowsill and listened, he told his stories, legends really. Stories I had heard many times and would gladly listen to many more. His stories about the ship yard, the war, welding, San Francisco, how hard of a worker his son is, and stories of his many children. His stories are on a loop, like listening to your favorite record that keeps playing that same lyric over and over. He just wanted to be heard, I was all ears. It was special just to be by his side. I reminded him of our stories, how wonderful he was to me, my brother, and sister. I hugged him, thanked him, told him I love him.
Ultimately it doesn't matter that he won't remember that visit, or recall my name. It's not about names, a title, or a role. Its how we choose to fill that role. His role as grand-father was a truly memorable and loving one. What mattered is for that period of time he knew he wasn't alone. Life is about human connection and how we choose to connect.
I write this post on Father's Day, in honor of the father of my father. This year seems particularly special as there is a new father entering the world, my brother.
This marks the addition of a generation, turning my father to grand-father, and my grand-father to a great grand-father. There is nothing more great or grand than that.
Thank you Charles Whitaker, for bestowing your greatness onto my father. He wouldn't be who he is without you.
Happy Father's day to all fatherly folk.
