Sta.sh
I lean back and look towards the ceiling to escape his eyes.
Those blue, vacant orbs that peer into me, questioning everything and nothing all at the same time.
I can't even look at him as he tries to remember how to make his voice work, propped up in that sterile, plastic-wrapped bed. The sounds of a ghost on the wind fill the room, a trickle of shushed dashes and dots and my eyes snap back to him to focus on his fumbling lips.
"What was that again?" I ask, hoping it's nothing too important.
He stares blankly at me and now I can't even tell if he was talking to himself or if he's forgotten what he said already.
I stay as still as possible, as if any small movement will break the hold I have on his attention. I glance at his eyes, quickly passing on before my mind registers his pleading expression.
It's hard enough to see someone like him.
It's even harder when he's your relative.
His lips purse and flatten a few times, his mouth moving like he's still gumming the green Jell-O he had for lunch an hour ago. After what feels like an eternity, he gives up, whatever he said now lost in the millions of whispered mysteries locked in his brain.
I turn away before he can and a silent tear streams down my cheek. I find myself wondering exactly how long he has left.
His skin is pale and thin and now the IVs look as if they could poke straight through his arm. He's long forgotten how to work his legs and arms and, even though the nurses come and move him often, the mattress has nearly rubbed him bald.
I would compare him to a mole rat or a naked cat but that would be an insult to the intelligence they have.
No, instead he is merely a baby. The types of baby doctors see before they shoot each other "the look." That look that says "It's YOUR turn to tell the family the bad news."
Of course, the parents always know that look. Their hearts skip a beat and their minds blank, refusing to believe until it's said out loud.
We always ignore the signs.
With his bright blue eyes gazing innocently around the room, I barely heard the doctor.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do except make him as comfortable as possible for the next few months."
At that moment, I transformed into the mother of a doomed baby.
It angered me at times, thinking that my 20-some-odd years of being a devoted granddaughter were no longer enough. Now, I was expected to give up my life and my future to sit in this nursing home day in and day out, watching him slowly waste away.
I would broad for hours until my guilt finally got the better of me. Where was my compassion I had for this man who meant so much to me? Was it trapped now too, drowned in his mind with all of his memories?
It took a while for me to allow myself to believe my grandpa was dying and now, every time I see him, I wonder if it would've been better if I'd never accepted it.
Don't they always say "Ignorance is Bliss?" I guess that would make Knowledge equal to Misery.
I hear the bed rustle as he shifts and I realize he's fallen asleep to the rhythm of his own EKG. I watch the peaks and valleys for a moment, silently hoping for a lag in the measure, a glimmer of hope that his suffering (and mine) would finally end.
But, the machine's sounds only grow steadier, as if in defiance of my thoughts. "No, he will not die tonight," its pulse seems to say.
I settle back into my chair and recline to join my Grandpa in Dreamland.
As I drift off, I find myself wondering if his dreams are still as vivid as they've always been or if the Alzheimer's has taken that small joy away from him too.
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My only problem is that he keeps complaining about how no one will let him hold her (although both my husband and my mother-in-law have gone out of their way to let him spend time with her) and if it were up to me, he wouldn't have anything to do with her. My mother-in-law has shared with me that he's been more excited about her birth than he ever was for any of his 3 children. Not to mention last Saturday when we came home from the hospital, after he held her and he left the room the first thing he asked someone to do was go get him beer... He also was trying to get my husband to go get him some when I was still in the hospital and he was home getting a shower and a change of clothes. Said he wanted to "celebrate" but I'm not letting him use our daughter as an excuse to get drunk. 
Neutral 
Regrets are mistakes you don't learn from
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