My Grandpa at 92

Affecionately referred to as Dido, meaning Grandpa in Czech. He was 50 when I was born, from the time I was old enough to remember my grandpa has been there in my life. Either in the middle of it, on the side, or lingering in the background. At times, I valued everything he said, other times I repelled from all of his "advice" and now as he ages, I find myself peaking with interest as he tells his stories. This man, was a seat filler for my father. When my dad died, he was there, he made his home available to us and we moved in. Not unselfishly, this was a move to better control my mom's outcome and to keep track of her affairs. But to a 1 1/2 year old who spent the next year in his daily presence, I was safe. My grandpa has always tried to provide safety and security to me, with Huge consequences, if his way was not the way I chose to get to the finish line. But this is not really about the "real grandpa" today, this is about "my grandpa" and it comes from a child's perspective, because as a child he was my everything.
My grandpa was a stern, strong, tall man when he was young. No nonsense. He taught me to be strong, opinionated and have a fighting will. He told me to never give up and to always speak my mind. He had no tolerance for wimps. it was not long after I was 3 that i remember beginning to fear him a bit, at times, I would stand at his feet and look aaaalll the waaaay up to his chin! I could not see past his chin, but I knew he was looking out around to make sure nobody was trying to harm me. When I stood behind him, peering out, I knew if I squeezed his leg, he would protect me. He would hold my hand to cross the street, he would offer his coat to me when I was cold and he always made sure my grandma was preparing us something to eat, so as not to be hungry. When I would take a bath, I could call for him, he would wash my back. I could always rely on him to lift me up to the tallest part of the cherry tree so I could reach that.... one.... cherry... i saw from the ground. He did this, and so much more for me. Today, I was watching my son, holding his grandpa's hand, walking from the restaurant, and I remembered how special I used to feel when I was holding MY grandpa's hand. I felt totally safe, totally loved and soo cool because he picked me to hold HIS hand. There have been times in my life as I have grown when my grandpa was a very deep source of pain for me. Some of the memories come with a price. His gentleness waned as I became an adult. His overbearing expectations, were too much to handle at times. But, today, I went to see him and i was so lost. My grandpa is a 92 yr old man. He is frail and bony, his face is skeletal and his eyes are hollow. He wants to be able to die. He just wants God to finally say, it's enough,we're ready for you now. But still he is given more time....He said to me today, I NEVER in my life, thought I would live this long. I knew, this was not a statement of pride, but one of despair, of utter desperation. I held my grandpa's hand today, and suddenly I was the hand providing stability, strength and comfort. his brown spotted paper thin hands, have seen so much pain and very hard work in his life. They have carved wood patterns for many of the first buick's at fisher body. My grandpa's favorite car was his lime green cadillac with the white leather interior. My had style. Now he sits in his flannel shirt, pants that are falling from his hips and has to drink coffee from a straw. This pillar in my life is crumbling. This man who was my father, and my grandfather, is now waiting for his last breath to finally come. It is heartbreaking and so completely wrong to watch him like this. His empty stare gazing out a widow, as if he is searching for his real life. Just gazing, looking, searching for a sign that this is NOT really the life he is living right now. The painful realization is to much for him to bear. Each time I see him now, he cries. he cries about still being alive, or about when he was an orphaned boy who mother chose to leave him she could come to America " she said she didn't me anymore". He cries about the church he used to belong to that told him after 67 years, "John, No we really don't want to hear your opinion anymore". He cries about the friends who have passed, and how he and my grandma are the only ones left. In the midst of all of this, he lives in his house with strangers, 24-7 caregivers, who feed him, bathe him and help him walk to the bathroom. He sleeps in a special recliner now, because he cant straighten his back anymore. He has not been able to sleep next to my grandma in 2 years. She sleeps on the couch next to his chair so that the familiar sound of his breathing can lull her to sleep. All the while longing to hold him next to her so he can reassure her of her own safety. This is no way to live. This is not a happy ending to a life honored by 6 children, 17 grandchildren, 10 great grandchildren and 3 great great grandchildren. This is not the way he wanted to go. All of this is bubbling up inside of me, waves of melancholy and frustration rumble over me like a bicycle over a cobblestone road, jarring my perspective and perplexing my mind. Right now, at this moment, I want my grandpa back. The guy who had fight in his soul. I want to see the man who taught me all of those things, and I want to relive those experiences. I want my Grandpa.