I regret how little I remember of my grandfather. He died when I was ten, which it seems is unfortunately young enough that my memories of him are spotty. What I do remember with absolute certainty is the way he made me feel. Whenever I think of my grandpa, I feel a sense of safety and warmth, a nostalgic joy I do not feel for almost anything else. I remember how he taught me how to play Chinese Checkers and how it became a unique thing that I got to share with him separate from my siblings. I only really have one clear memory of an actual event, and it is unfortunately a sad one, but it taught me what I believe is one of the most important lessons I will ever learn.
My grandfather was diagnosed with cancer and unfortunately, his treatment was unsuccessful. My dad, his son, had sat down with me and explained to me that he was terminally ill, something I had accepted but, looking back on it now, I had not truly processed what that meant. It was not until one of the last times I saw him that I fully understood what death meant.
The visit started happily enough and I remember that I had just gotten a new toy that I was extremely excited about, so excited that I specifically wanted to visit my grandpa so I could share with him how cool it was. As I was showing it to him while we were sitting on the couch, I really took in how he looked. My grandpa had always been very athletic and he and my grandma often went biking and hiking, the results being obvious when you compared him with other men his age. However, by the time of that visit, the cancer and chemotherapy had ravaged his body leaving him frighteningly gaunt. The clothes he was wearing that once fit him looked several sizes too big. His hair was all gone, reduced to a little bit of stubble on his upper lip. But, the thing that struck me the most was how bad his hearing had gotten. I had to repeat what I said several times throughout the visit and I distinctly remember that being what truly made me realize how close to the end he was. I suddenly dropped the toy and started crying. When he asked me what was wrong, I could just barely choke out the words: “You’re gonna die”. My grandpa did not hesitate, he picked me up, held me, and let me cry.
I know it does not seem like a very special reaction for a grandfather to comfort his crying grandchild, but in the years since I have realized just how kind this was. My grandpa was in pain and on the verge of going into hospice care, plus he had to deal with the anxiety and depression that comes with facing one’s own death. It would have been completely reasonable for him to ask that my dad or grandma handle it, but he chose to do it himself. I somehow still remember how he smelled and how he suddenly seemed to be the strongest man in the world as he told me it was going to be okay.
Everyone dies. One way or another I am going to be in that position myself and when that day comes, I want to be like my grandpa and be the one comforting my friends and family. They will have to deal with the pain I felt that day, of having to live on without someone you love. As afraid as I know I will be when that time comes, my suffering will be nearing its end, while theirs will be just beginning. My grandpa never knew what he did, but he taught me how to die with love and compassion, a lesson I hope I can impart when the time comes. While I wish I had clearer happier memories of him, I’m glad I retained the most important one.
Bruin Armstrong Writing 