Hello world!
A few posts back I wrote about a piece dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, and how it provided healing and closure for me, and I promised to include it in a future post. So without further ado...
The Biggest Kid
Easing towards the corner, I crept up as stealthily as a giddy seven year girl could possibly muster. With my nose pressed against the wall, I slid over just enough for one eye to peer down the hall.
Sploooosh!!
Blasted square in the eye by the most heinous streams of water. Through the pain and the flooded eyeball I could see him. Still standing there with the giant “Rambo” water bazooka held up to his face, and only his giant smile was visible.
“Hehehehehe” He giggled mischievously then dashed behind the wall still chuckling at the perfect shot.
“Time-out!!!” I yelled sternly
“No time-outs!” he returned disappointedly from behind the cover of the kitchen wall.
There he stood, like I will always remember him- looking goofy and wild eyed behind his Jerry Lewis glasses. Fitted in his three piece black suit, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, and a pair of black Stacy Adams shoes. Not a day went by that I ever saw him wearing anything less than a suit. He was half grinning with his Rambo gun down at his side.
Seeing him with his guard down I quickly lifted my AR-51 assault water rifle, pulled the trigger and laughed hysterically as it pumped water in quick powerful bursts right into his chest.
His giggle returned as he retreated once again towards the kitchen and called me a "jerk".
I could hear him creeping around the other side of the wall trying to sneak up on me. Very quietly I approached the rest of his guns, climbing up the trunk and slowly pulling the last machine gun off the wall, placing the strap around my neck and shoulders.
Suddenly there was a loud thump, then a chuckle followed by the sound of water blasting, then a scream…
“Dad!!”
Leaping from the trunk with the gun still on my shoulder, towards the end of the hallway, I came upon a sight like no other. The walls were drenched with water. Droplets fell from the ceiling- and in the middle of it, my mom, soaked from chest down with her hair sticking to her neck and face, fuming.
Every breath in my lungs escaped me as I rolled on the floor laughing uncontrollably. My grandpa just stood there like a child about to be in big trouble.
We spent almost every Easter with my mom’s dad, “Grandpa Tito” is what we called him. We would go to this huge park near San Francisco and have a big family picnic. My mom would always dress me and my sister in these frilly white dresses with leggings and little white fancy shoes. She’d put our hair in perfect curls and tried to match our outfits as closely as possible. I was a tomboy and hated every minute of it. At least until we got to the park.
Within minutes of arriving my sister and I would lay on the grass and roll down this huge hill towards the picnic tables.
“Do you see what they are doing?” exclaimed my mom to my dad.
“ I thought your dad was supposed to be watching them!”
Oh, he was. He always had his blind eyes on us. But not quite the way one would think.
Not too far behind my sister, was my grandpa, with his hands above his head, barrel rolling down the hill just like we were. My dad would just smile in his biggest grin and laugh it off.
“At least you already took some pictures.”
My mom didn't find it quite as funny.
******
This is the way I will always remember my grandfather. The biggest kid of all. He loved us so much and he simply adored my mother. She was his everything. No matter what was going on in our lives, he was always there to take care of us. He helped with bills when times were tough, and made sure we had what we needed. On top of that, growing up with him was a lot of fun.
When I got older, I left my home town to pursue my career and started a family. I rarely came home to visit and often wasn't able to be present for many of the get-togethers. It was really hard on my family not seeing me,especially my grandfather. It caused a great deal of distance between us and our relationship was never quite what it used to be. At one point, I did return home. My grandfather was having trouble living by himself so I moved in to help take care of him, and to take some of the responsibility off my mom who was overwhelmed with everything, and under a lot of stress from the demand.
For years I had told my husband about how wonderful my grandfather was- the fun we had and how he was always so good to us. Unfortunately, the man I was now living with, no longer resembled the man I always spoke so highly of. He was demanding, disrespectful, inconsiderate, angry and impossible to please. Still, I took care of him. I was patient with him, and treated him with the respect I felt he had earned while I was growing up. But that wasn’t what he wanted. I don’t think he even knew what he wanted. Living with him became almost impossible.
When he was being his most difficult, I just closed my eyes and reminded myself of the “grandpa” I always knew. He was still there inside of him, and there were moments when he knew it too. I think sometimes he did the same- tried to remind himself of the “grandpa” he used to be. Occasionally we shared the relationship we once knew, but those times got fewer and farther apart. We both knew things would never be the same, but all of me, and a part of him, still held on to those memories.
Tensions rose between us, and I ended up moving out of his place. It’s not that I left on bad terms, but they were not pleasant either. Not for any other reasons other than circumstances, I didn't see or talk to him for several months after that. I never needed to ask how he was doing because my mom always offered it within the frustrated conversations about him when she returned from visiting him. It was obvious things were not getting any better.
Looking back, I feel a bit regretful that I didn't realize what was going on. Having been a nurse prior to this, I should have recognized what his mannerisms and actions were demonstrating. My grandfather was beginning to show signs of dementia. While he has always been a stubborn old mule, the dementia only amplified his obstinence, and added other “undesirable” attitudes towards those around him. In a clinical setting, it may have been easier to detect with those patients whose mental stability began to decline. But when it happens to a loved one, you tend to take their behaviors personally and torture yourself with the question of “why are they being this way to me?” You don’t want to blame them, although it is too easy not to when it often feels like you are the target of their anger and frustrations. The truth is, they are dealing with much more than just wondering why they are being a certain way. They are dealing with getting older and less independent, memory loss, grief from losing all of their friends to old age as well, the realization of how close death may actually be, the fear of what will happen to their loved ones when they are gone, and their overall health at the time. Those with dementia have all those fears, but often do not know how to deal with them on top of the emotional distress that comes with it. All of this can be overwhelming, and often causes them to lash out for what we may consider the tiniest of things. More than likely this is what was going on with my grandfather
Not too long after I moved out of his place, I moved out of state. But before this, I did see my grandfather one more time. It had been a few months since we last spoke, but he had come to visit my mom like he did every day, and I just happened to be there. When he left, I walked him to his car and helped him get in. I kissed him on the cheek, gave him a hug and told him that I loved him.
That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to my grandpa. He passed away about a year later. It still pains me that I couldn’t attend his funeral. I tried everything in my power to make the trip but I was in no position to do so. I picture him wearing the gleaming white three piece zoot suit with the gold dress shirt and matching handkerchief I had chosen for him. He wouldn’t have wanted to be buried any other way. I had always been the one picking out his suits and dressing him to the nines. It was a funny bond we shared, that I knew exactly how he wanted to look, and he was always grateful for that.
I couldn't be more grateful for every good time we shared, and that I was given the opportunity to make things right between us-despite how unsuccessful it seemed at the time, at least I can say I honestly tried. Mostly I am grateful that I don't regret the last words I ever said to him. I told him exactly what my heart needed him to know and I hope he remembered those as my last words as well.
Reflection
Missing his funeral was one of the hardest parts of losing him. One would normally expect me to be the first one there and the last to leave, but never to not be there at all. I wasn’t there to honor his life, after his death, and it’s something I thought would haunt me for the rest of my life…until today
This piece is in honor of him. In honor of the wonderful man he always was by loving his family so unselfishly, with such laughter, good times. In honor of the very strange, although well intended things he taught me, all the weddings and parties we used to swing dance together, and all of our long walks and short trolly rides. I write this to finally honor all of the things I didn't get to say at his funeral, and many of the wonderful things I hope he knows that I loved so much about him.