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By Arianna Goodman
Today is Grandpa’s birthday. Happily, we are celebrating again this year, but not in our usual way. This year we are gathered around his hospital bed waiting for a neurologist to speak with us. In other years we would be at his favorite restaurant. Grandpa’s health has not been the best this year. He’s hospitalized now with an infection, but if will power has anything to do with it, he’ll be fine. My grandfather’s view of life is amazing. He truly looks forward to each day. Yes, he speaks of the past, but his direction is always facing forward. I’ve never heard him say an unkind word. More importantly, I don’t think he “thinks” unkind thoughts. When I turn 22, I hope I will be as kind.
My grandfather has seven grandchildren. We don’t all live nearby and are rarely together at the same time. We’re not even all on the same continent, but through our grandfather we remain united. Grandpa doesn’t always recognize each one of us at first. For years he’s been asking “which one are you”? But, after we remind him who we are, we’re greeted with his welcoming smile. In his defense, my hair wasn’t PINK the last time he saw me. There is never any criticism. Never “what have you done to yourself?” No, just that smile. I hope I’m as accepting as my grandfather is when I’m 32.
As my grandfather dozes, my grandmother and I are catching up on things. Grandpa being in the hospital is difficult on her as well. For years she has relied on him. They do everything together. They have silly “matching outfits” and always have outlandish costumes for Halloween. Most of all, they take care of each other. When I’m 42 I’ll be very lucky if someone loves me that much.
I have two aunts, but my father is Grandpa’s only son. It is difficult seeing the pain on my father’s face as we stand here waiting for the doctor. My dad is not a demonstrative man, but you can see devotion when he looks at grandpa. There’s a deep sense of admiration there in addition to the love. Grandpa must be a great father. If I decide to have children, I hope they think I’ve been a great parent by the time I’m 52.
Before I came home this weekend, I called to check on Grandpa. I heard the phone drop, then some background noise, then grandma asked if I could call back a little later. Evidently, grandpa tried to lock himself in the bathroom for a little privacy. Anyone who has ever been in a hospital knows there is little privacy there. The gown that never quite closes, the nurse who comes in every hour, and now someone to help grandpa navigate all the tubes in his arms and chest on his way to the bathroom. A lesser man would ask for a bedpan…but not grandpa. When I’m 62 I hope I’ll have his determination.
Grandpa is still in and out of sleep from all the medicine. At least I think he’s asleep. Grandpa is singing. I’ve never heard him sing before, and he actually has a very nice voice. I look over a grandma and she smiles and says, “Yes, he does this all the time.” She can even “make requests” and he’ll sing her favorite song. No, these aren’t modern songs. They date back to Grandpa’s youth. Isn’t it usually the case that as people age they have less time to listen to music, whether on the radio or on an IPOD? Is music part of the culture of youth? Oh, when I’m 72 I hope I still have a song in my heart.
The doctor is here now. He’s not particularly personable or even likable. He’s speaking in an overly loud voice and enunciating the way people sometimes do to foreign people, or the hard of hearing, or to OLD people. Clearly, he doesn’t know my grandfather. He asks grandpa to open his eyes and name everyone who is in the room. Yay! He did it…well, almost. He pointed and said, “I don’t know the one with the pink hair.” The doctor then asked grandpa when was the last time he held a job. Grandpa replied that he had gone to work last week. Our department store has been in continuous operation for over 100 years now, and yes, Grandpa still goes in almost every day. It is obvious the doctor dismissed the idea that maybe grandpa actually had gone to work last week and said “Ok, let’s say your last job was in 1995. Who was president?” My brother and I looked at each other. These are hard questions. Neither of us remembers who was president in 1995. The doctor continues talking to us as if grandpa isn’t even in the room. Grandpa raises his hand. Yes, always polite, not wanting to interrupt this bag of wind who is still going on and on about dementia, Alzheimer’s, nursing homes..harsh words to use when speaking about Grandpa. When Grandpa finally gets to speak…his one question is simply…have you ever been able to help someone of my age regain their memory? Here he is again. That positive thinker we all love. No feeling sorry for himself, no complaining about the difficulties of poor health or most especially, advancing age…just…how soon can we get started? Clearly, most definitely, this man’s head is filled with happy things that he wants to remember. There is no bitterness, no hint of regret, just happy thoughts. I pray that when I’m 82 my life will have been filled with that much happiness.
Thank goodness the doctor finally left. We decided who was President in 1995 and laughed about it. Grandpa felt reassured that there was medicine to help him and said he wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed. Grandma patted his hand and told him not to worry. They would be home soon. There will be no nursing home for Grandpa. If he requires additional medical treatment, we’ll try to find a hospital with more compassionate doctors. Dementia? Alzheimer’s? Maybe, but we don’t care. Those of us who love him know that his memory has always been terrible. We know that his health could be better. But mostly, tonight we know the joy of being together for another birthday celebration with Grandpa. When I’m 92, this is exactly what I want my life to have been.
Page last updated: 12/16/2008 13:45
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