Slowly, you’re slipping away. You’re fading in slow motion, a little more each day. You become confused, you fade away, until you’re invisible. From now on, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere.
Dates, memories, the sequence of events—even names… they’re all fading one by one from your memory.
Today, Grandpa, you forgot the name of my youngest child. It’s okay, you know. But it reminds me that the disease is progressing—far too quickly…
Today, Grandpa, I went to see your old house. I remembered everything we went through together. I remembered my grandfather, barely graying and with the energy of ten men. I remembered everything you did for my brothers and me, how important your role was in our childhood. I remembered just how much you were the center of our big family, the glue that held us all together. I remembered a proud, strong, and playful grandfather. I remembered the hours you spent rocking me to sleep, the many times I ran to jump into your arms, our ice cream cones dipped in chocolate, our ski trips, your baseball games, your “catalogue tours,” and so much more…
Today, I realize that you’re a thousand miles away from all of that. And it hurts. I’ve always dreaded losing you. The mere thought that you might die one day would automatically bring tears to my eyes.
Today, I realize that you’re already slipping away, little by little. And my heart is heavy, Grandpa.
Instead of snatching you away from us all at once, life is taking you away bit by bit. And it makes me wonder which is worse. Except that despite all our grief, I tell myself that it’s worst for you. For a man so proud—even arrogant—to see himself deteriorating like this is pure torture.
I don’t know how far the illness will take you. I don’t know how much longer you’ll remember who I am, but I’ll keep writing to you in every card that I love you so much, just as I always have. I’ll keep talking to you the same way, teasing you just like before. I’ll keep thanking heaven for letting my children get to know their great-grandpa.
So no matter the diagnosis, no matter the illness, my grandpa is strong, he’s proud. My grandpa is the funniest. My grandpa is worth twelve grandfathers all by himself. My grandpa is the best. Period.
Caroline Goudreault