I Believe

I believe in holding an old person’s hand and sitting quietly with him. The delicate, smooth hands long replaced the rough, calloused ones you knew so well. I believe in holding that warm hand and sitting for hours, even if you don’t have anything to say. I believe that person you visit, the very same person the nurses tell you won’t remember you were there because his short term memory is completely gone, will remember that feeling of someone holding his hand.

I believe in helping him remember who he is by sharing the old black and white photos of his life every time you visit. I believe in listening really well when he’s in a talking mood. He narrates each picture with precise accuracy and for a moment you forget he doesn’t know who are you.

I believe in teaching him right from wrong when he comments on an old picture of his mother-in-law and blurts out, “There’s Hattie-she was fucking ole’ Harry down the road.”

When you let go of his hand and gently swat him on the arm and say, “Gramp”, he’ll just reply, matter-of-factly, “Well, she was.” You say back, “Gramp, you can’t use words like that, all those nice old ladies just heard you.” But he really doesn’t have a filter for words like that anymore and says what he wants.

I believe you have to take him to lunch at the local diner each time you visit because he loves going for rides. Even though you are petrified the whole time he eats because he hoards his food in his cheek and you have to keep reminding him to swallow. And every time you take him to the diner, you can bet he’s going to order a steak.

I believe in bringing fresh homemade baking whenever you visit. They feed him well and he has a great appetite, but he loves the homemade goodies. I believe in bringing him something made from blueberries, his berries. His gentle hands clumsily bring the muffin to his mouth and eat the whole thing. He’s embarrassed the crumbs have dribbled down the front of him and looks at you to see if you notice, too. You have to take the platter away because he doesn’t know when he’s full and he’ll eat the whole tray if you let him.

I believe in going back as often as you can to hold his hand. Even if the real “him” isn’t there anymore. Each time, when you turn to leave, his hand will slip out of yours and you know he’s slipping further away from you.