Visiting Papa | Teen Ink

Visiting Papa

July 7, 2015
By WillowyWishes BRONZE, North Logan, Utah
WillowyWishes BRONZE, North Logan, Utah
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
&quot;Life isn&#039;t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.&quot;<br /> --George Bernard Shaw


My eyes swim with tears that threaten to spill over as I look at Papa’s blank, pale blue eyes that remain dry themselves. My sister has just finished reading ‘The Dance’ by Richard Paul Evans, and my mom turns to face her father who doesn't even remember reading the same book the day before. “You were that dad for me,” she whispers, referring to the book. “Really?” he replies, smiling with childlike obliviance. My mom nods, crying, and I clench my fists until my fingers turn white from loss of blood flow. How can you actually have lost someone in your life when they are still living? Well, I’ve lost my grandfather to Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes he says funny things that don’t make sense, like “You are a pretty pickle” or “I am the King of Pop-tarts” after an elaborate TV commercial. Even though I’ll laugh, my heart pangs with his loss of sense. I often wonder what he’d think if he were looking down on himself from the heavens where he is the same person my mom knew growing up. Maybe he’d be angry, at his forgotten dignity. Maybe he’d feel like his family had left him in the time he needed us most, whenever he’s left alone in his house with the blaring television showing "House Hunters" or any other real estate show. Deep in my head I know he isn’t looking down on us, but that doesn’t stop my thinking. This weekend he is staying at a nursing home that really is nice, but I have never hated a place more. His wife, my Nana, is going to my great grandmother’s 100th birthday party in another state- but obviously he is in no position to accompany her. He can barely walk since he doesn’t remember how to move his legs, and usually shuffles them uselessly on the tile floor. Yesterday was my first time visiting him. He had been dropped off that very morning and was quite enjoying it. He had his own room, with two armchairs and a bed that could sensor change in pressure and would alarm the main desk if he got out of bed in the night. There were many activities for him to attend, and when we came he was sitting around a circular table where there was a bag of popcorn and a mini can of soda with a small straw sticking out of it. “Hey Papa,” my mom smiled, hugging him. I hugged him next and his shaking arms gathered around me, his arthritic fingers stroking my shoulder. “I love you,” I murmured. My mom offered him the popcorn and his face lit up as he crunched down on the buttery heated kernels. As we took him back to his bedroom, I couldn't help but glance into the other dim rooms where sick, lonely, elderly people lay still in their beds with oddly colored faces and often an oxygen machine by their side. They were all friendly, but I still felt awful. What was going on in this place? I always thought as a grandma I’d live joyously, walking and talking until the very day I'd die. I always thought that I’d be well enough to see my grandchildren and play with them, despite graying hair and difficulty walking. But those grandparents don't live here, in the nursing home. These are the people that have the most severe of mental diseases such as Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease, or in most cases difficulty with the physical side of their bodies. Today when we went to visit Papa, he was at the same table, now sporting a puzzle, and he was talking to a man in a wheelchair. Papa was muttering utter nonsense, obviously speaking to the elderly man in front of him. “God loves all of his children,” the other man breathed heavily in response. And then the world spun for me, as I unconsciously thought of the life I may live so many years in the future. I may be just like the people I saw, in heavily equipped wheelchairs with a clear tube running under my nose, or speaking words unrelatable to each other. And that’s when it hits me. This is the life I am given, and maybe when I’m very old, I won't be in good condition. But for now, with my completely healthy body, I must live for all of those people who can not do the things their hearts most desire. I must wake up every morning with the light shining through my window and jump out of bed. I must run through big, grassy fields and feel the sun on my face and the wind blowing my hair back so it brushes my shoulders. I must sing and prance around, enjoying life to the fullest. And perhaps someday I’ll be dancing and someone very aged will be watching out of their window and feel as if they are dancing too.


The author's comments:

I realized how valuable life and time is for everyone from the days I visited the nursing home, and it made me want to share my experience. I hope people will read my story and change how they live, savoring every moment they are given.


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This article has 11 comments.


shari said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 9:12 pm
So true! Live for the now but don't forget those who used to dance. Good writing.

Wayne Perry said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 12:06 pm
A profound and touching reminder that life is fleeting and so easily taken for granted. "Jump out of bed...sing...dance...enjoy." Words to live by. Thank you.

SUSHI said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 10:55 am
You touched my heart! My own dear Mother died of Alzheimer's--so bless your heart! Yes--cherish every moment, as life changes so quickly. (And I recommend enjoying the funny things they say & do, because there's enough of the sad stuff along the way..... ;)

Mynameisjeff said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 10:11 am
Vote for this kid he wants a golf cart

lizzy said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 9:55 am
Beautiful!

Sparrow said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 9:10 am
Wonderful article! Btw, I love the book The Dance.

Darla said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 7:12 am
I loved reading this. I lost my beloved dad to alzheimer's just a few weeks ago. You are wise beyond your years. Continue to cherish life. I knew your grandfather years ago. He is a wonderful man.

on Jul. 15 2015 at 4:43 am
Reminds me of the movie "still alice". The part where you say he isn't alive but isn't dead breaks my heart. Well written, and meaningful essay!

Debbie said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 4:09 am
It's so true. We picture our retirement years as a time when we'll do all kinds of things we planned, but we can't know what we will and won't be capable of. Even at 48, I can do so much more than my parents can in their 70s, and I should be making more use of that energy and ability. Good job on the story. I think you've touched on something that's true for almost everyone, but that we don't often think about.

Jeremy said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 2:30 am
Very well written! My grandmother also has Alzheimer's. She no longer recognizes me or my children. She has brought so much love into our lives that even though she has no recollection of us, it is still beautiful that we get to spend time with her, repeating the same conversations over and over. Thank you for reminding me of the wonderful gift of my "able body" and what I am able to accomplish for others.

Robert said...
on Jul. 15 2015 at 2:21 am
Beautiful and moving! I had experiences like this with my dear Grandma who was the reason I became an artist. I love your message! Cherish life!