elegy for the living

grandma and i took grandpa to the mall the other day. (they’re in town from the rural north woods.) he seemed to recognize that we’d met before but i never expected him to know who i was- he forgot mom’s name a long time ago. i had hugged their shrinking frames a few months ago, yet grandpa seems more frail than ever. grandma says he keeps losing his wallet; he hides it. “he never used to be so stingy with money!” she says. is that what it’s like to lose your lucidity? maybe he’s clinging to whatever he can grab hold of, whatever hasn’t slipped away.

it’s surreal to let go piece by piece. bit by bit everything’s being replaced by new reality. for instance, he no longer calls me “little one” or slips me money at the store, whispering, “don’t tell your grandmother.” (a moment later she’d slip me money and whisper, “don’t tell grandpa.”) grandma explained that she usually refers to him as “dad” when she’s around mom or my aunts. consequently,  he asked me, “where’s my mother?” grandpa did a good job waiting on the bench while we went into each store. it made me sad to see him sitting there, all alone. at least he was safe- at home he cut his own hair and even burned himself on the water heater.

how do you get reacquainted with someone you already know? their face is the same but their personality and demeanor are different. how do you grieve the loss of someone who is still alive?  i asked myself as i helped grandpa buckle his seat in the car. changing the subject to happier thoughts only made me feel worse. i remarked that i would send them home with their annual christmas gifts from me- the amaryllis bulb for grandma and the birdseed wreath for grandpa. the thought of hanging a wreath suddenly reminded me of a graveyard decoration for some reason. then grandma replied that i didn’t need to get them anything. “you’re single, all by yourself. it’s just you, all alone…”