Rick’s Rants and Raves

I’m incredibly fortunate to have known all four of my grand-parents. My grandmother Bennett died just before I turned 30, and the rest are still living. One of the reasons Anne and I returned to Columbus after Emily was born was so that our children could know their great-grandparents. They’ve been fortunate enough to have known seven (include step-greats).

Tonight I visited my grandfather Bennett–he’s 94 and was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer. I feel very guilty that I hadn’t seen him for several months primarily due to our busy lives; he lives only 10 minutes from my house. He’s been to our house for nearly every Thanksgiving in the last decade, and frequently for Christmas and kids’ birthdays. I wish it had been more.

He recently moved to a full nursing facility where he’ll likely spend his final days. How soon those final days will come is difficult to tell, but he confided to me that he was pretty sure they were not far off.

My grandfather greeted me with the same question he nearly always did “Are you making lots of money?” to which I responded with a chuckle “I’m doing my best, grandpa, doin’ my best.” Despite being a withering 90 pounds, his grip as he shook my hand was stronger than some of my fellow cubicle dwellers. The whole time we talked, he sipped slowly on a cherished McDonald’s strawberry milkshake.

We talked about his great-grand kids. We talked about his wife. We talked about his roommate. We talked about his habit of not wearing pajamas. It was only after he pointed out that he always wears shoes in bed that I realized he simply didn’t bother to disrobe at night. He wears shoes because the floors in the “institution” –as he’s fond of calling it–are cold and slippery. His black tennys resolve both issues. And for a man of ultimate practicality, changing into pajamas at night was simply unnecessary.

He told me about the most recent book he checked out of the library: Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant. He lamented that his Greek and Latin weren’t what they used to be, and that this will probably be the last book he ever checks out. Shortly after this comment, he complained that his brain wasn’t working well all the time. Holy crap, I hope my brain works that well at 94–I’m astonished that he was able to describe the title and author of the book such that I could easily find it on Amazon, not to mention that he still remembers some Greek and Latin.

While I talked with my Grandfather, I found my attention drawn by two competing distractions: his roommate’s TV, and an elderly woman across the hall. The TV was tuned to something resembling Bay Watch with cheek-baring-near-thong bikinis. The roommate was asleep. I was the only one in the room who noticed the bare cheeks. The elderly woman across the hall let out a mournful “Someone please help me” every 5-7 seconds. The whole time I was there. I think this woman has been in every nursing facility I’ve ever visited. The nursing staff had clearly tended to her pleas in prior hours, days, weeks, and was no longer worried about meeting her needs.

I asked my grandfather if it would be OK to have the kids visit. He told me he would enjoy that, but was afraid he wasn’t much to talk to, and that he might scare the kids in his present condition. He seemed smaller, and older, but still much the man I knew years ago. He spoke his great-grandkids’ names with deliberation–”Nath–an” and “Em–il-y” but at least he remembered their names, their birthdays (approximately), and that he bought his last car in 1997 that got 37 miles to the gallon on the freeway.

When he claimed for the second time that he had run out of things to say (though he hadn’t really the first time he said that) I took it to mean that he was getting tired. He asked me to turn down the volume on the TV and lay his bed down before I left. He choked back a few tears of gratitude that I had come to visit. I promised to return with the kids tomorrow.