Just Like Grandpa

      I was only a child, but I can vividly remember my first visit to Graysville Retirement Home.  Mom and dad drove up the tree-lined lane and parked our sedan.  I hadn't seen grandpa in about a year.  My memories of him were always so much fun.  His eyes had a twinkle and a smile seemed to shadow his grin.  Every Christmas and every birthday he helped to make special in so very many ways.  Such joy I felt at the thought of seeing him again.
      Holding the hand of my dad, I climbed the stairs.  The inside of the place was not nearly as nice as the grounds that surrounded it.  The air held a stench, and the paint was peeling.  Finally we arrived at grandpa's room.  Opening the door, I could see a man.  He was sitting hunched over, his head in his hands.  But where was grandpa?  My eyes searched the room, but there was no one else except for this lonely man.  To my utter shock, the man looked up and it was grandpa!  Our eyes met and for a moment I could hardly get my breath.  My dad was talking then.  "How are you doing, Dad?"  Grandpa's words said that he was okay, but his eyes said, "I hate it here."  Couldn't dad see how much grandpa was unhappy being here?  Again, grandpa's eyes searched out mine.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  I didn't want grandpa to see.  But he did see, and reached out his hand to me.  Gladly I ran to him and hugged him close.  It had been much too long.  This was my special friend, my buddy.
      "It's good to see you, sonny.  Sure have grown quite a bit."  Grandpa spoke as though he weren't feeling the pain I could see in his face.
      "You should see him play ball, Dad.  This kid is a real slugger."  My dad was trying to make some conversation.  Mom sat quietly looking about the place.
      "Is that so?"  Grandpa's wrinkled hand lifted my chin to face him.  There was a twinkle still left in his eyes.  "I remembered everything you taught me.  I practiced a lot."  The words were harder and harder to speak.  The pleasant memories that I held so dear readily accompanied my words.  "You remember to choke up on the bat, and you don't swing at just any old ball thrown, you only take the good ones."  With that grandpa laughed.  I laughed, too.  His laugh was just as bubbly as always.  Suddenly, for one brief moment, everything seemed to be like always...but just for one brief moment.
      I sat by grandpa's side.  Dad and mom made small talk about the weather, "Hasn't it been beautiful, but, boy, has it been hot!  My parents asked grandpa about the other people.  "Had he met anyone that he especially got along with?"  and "How's the food?" along with "Do you get together with the other people for Bingo, card games, and all the other activities?"  Grandpa answered all their questions, and was as pleasant as could be, never asking the one question that was most important to him...and to me..."Why are you doing this to me?"  More than anything I wanted to bring my grandpa home, more than anything.  My dad just didn't understand, and mom sat looking about the room quietly. 
      Much too soon it was time to go.  I must have given grandpa the longest hug ever that day.  He hugged me long and hard, too.  By this time the tears streamed down my face, and I was sure I saw a tear run down grandpa's face as well.  Grandpa was very brave saying good-bye.  He smiled as he shook dad's hand and looked straight into his eyes, "Good-bye, Son."  Dad cleared his throat and looked away.  Mom kissed grandpa's cheek.  They felt very awkward, I could tell.
      I must have looked back at my grandpa a dozen times as we walked down the long hall.  He stood slightly bent and waved, the sad smile still on his face.  For many years to come I would remember grandpa in just that way.
      In our green sedan we drove away.
      We made regular trips to Graysville Retirement Home to see grandpa.  With each visit it appeared grandpa had faded a little more.  The conversation was made mostly by dad who looked upon an aging man, whom he called "Dad".  Grandpa's eyes still held a glimmer whenever he saw me.  We were still buddies...and always would be.
      It wasn't long before grandpa spent our visits dozing and his waking time trying to remember.  I looked into his eyes and they were distant now.  Grandpa was no longer the grandpa I remembered.  He was but a shadow of the vibrant figure he once had been.  All he lived for had been taken away the day he had become an occupant of Graysville Retirement Home; all his hopes and dreams...his self-respect and usefulness.
      I looked at grandpa long and hard.  It was the last time I saw him.  He slipped away into a world of his own.  Our visits were unnoticed, and there was no longer any need for "small talk".  I wondered if dad would ever understand.
      Grandpa would always be a part of my life...his memory warms my heart today.  I remember still the twinkle in his eyes, the laughter that freely flowed from him, and all the joy and happiness he gave me over the years.  Grandpa would forever be my special friend, my buddy.
      I understand how grandpa felt when he was left here at Graysville Retirement Home.  I understand it all too well; for you see it is now my home too, where the paint is peeling and the stench of unkeptness fills the air.  I too, have a grandson whom I love dearly.  We are the best of buddies, too.  I taught him everything that grandpa taught me.  He comes to see me, and my son makes small talk.  But it is the unspoken words that hurt so very much...it is the knowing why I am here that I have to learn to live with.
      Many hours a day I sit remembering "the good old days".  No, I don't take part in many of the activities here at Graysville Retirement Home.  Mostly I just sit and think and remember.  It makes me feel good to enter my own little world...yes, just like grandpa.  I try to make my family feel comfortable when they come visit.  Of course, I love them still.  They have no idea what just being here does to a person...and I hope they never will.
      Like grandpa, I, too, am slipping quietly away.

Louise Alberto McAtee
Author of When That Day Comes
http://www.outskirtspress.com/whenthatdaycomes