This weekend, I took an essential trip outside my region: I went to visit my grandfather.
My grandfather is 92 years old. Like most people his age, he has neurocognitive disorders. However, he’s still fit enough to live independently in an apartment. Luckily, his children take good care of him. Because even though he’s in good shape, he also has neurocognitive disorders.
It had been a long (too long) time since we’d seen each other, but we chat on the phone once in a while. He’s always very happy when I call, as if he’d just won the jackpot.
This weekend, I took an essential trip outside my region to visit my grandfather.
When he arrived, I saw the look of uncertainty in his eyes—the same one I see all too often in the eyes of the elderly people I meet at the long-term care facility. That look of memory drawers that are a little rusty, searching for the right words. I didn’t think much of it; I’m probably just overanalyzing, as usual.
As we were chatting at the table, he looked at me politely and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.” I gently reminded him that my name was Josée, and we laughed about how everyone in this family had trouble with names.
As we were reminiscing on the porch, he looked at me in surprise and said, “You know Yoyo?!?!?” I gently explained to him that she was my grandmother, which meant he was my grandfather, and that his daughter was my mother, not my aunt. We continued sharing memories and laughing.
This weekend, I took an essential trip outside my region to visit my grandfather.
My trip was essential because my grandfather, due to the lockdown and the drastic change in routine, has lost some of his cognitive abilities. Maybe my visit helped oil a few cogs in his memory. Or maybe not—I’m probably just being overly optimistic again.
I’m not even sure he fully recognized me before I left, but that’s okay. My trip was essential.
It was essential because it also reminded me that life is fragile, even when your test comes back negative.
I love you, Grandpa, even if you forget that you’re forgetting me
Josée Levesque