My grandpa.
A man of infinite zoological knowledge, a professor.
A man of baseball-like muscles and skinny legs, a hard worker.
A man of laugh-lines and “sweethearts”, a loving spirit.
My grandfather’s memory is quickly fading away. His mind comes and goes, like an unpredictable tide. Waves, lapping at his brain, tickling his conscious.
I took care of him today: a ride to the dentist, a hug, a microwaved meal, a watchful eye.
“Don’t make me a liar,” I said, eyebrows raised. “I don’t want to have to pretend that you took a good nap when you didn’t.”
He laughed, hands in front of him, raised in surrender.
“You’re a good girl. I wouldn’t make you do that,” he chuckled. I turned back to the sink, rinsing our dishes for grandma.
“I remember when you graduated from school,” I smiled at the water running over the porcelain, sure he couldn’t.
His voice was serious now, desperate to convey his sincerity. “I can’t remember the other kids, but I remember yours. You’re the one that matters.”
I looked up at him, his back curled inwards, one hand on his chest, one steadying his shaky body. His eyes were filling with tears.
I dashed over to him and wrapped my arms around his thin shoulders. His glasses clawed me from within his chest pocket, as they alway had. That little bite I had braced myself for a thousand times.
I thought of the first memory I possess of my grandfather, his speech at my baptism. I don’t remember the day, I don’t remember anything but his voice and the tears that poured from his eyes. He had shared the story of my birth, how he had fought a cancer I’d never known about, battled it just to see me come into the world. He’d won, he was there. He blessed me and taught me as I grew. I was the little one he’d fought for, I was the one he held onto now, when others ebbed from him mind.
I smiled at him, and told him I wouldn’t tell that I was his favorite, if he wouldn’t tell that he was mine.
I will mean it long after he forgets, because he fought for me, and he won.
xxx.
xxx.
