The good old days
My Grandfather is dying. Each day, corrupted cells in his bones slowly and inexorably eat away at his life. Every day he experiences pain at such levels that I probably can't begin to imagine. Thus, it seems, both of my grandfathers will be claimed by the same disease. What must his life be like? Has it become a living Hell? Does death seem a glorious and merciful release? Or is his impending demise a horrible prospect, causing him to cling to every precious moment? I don't think I'll ever know. My Grandfather doesn't speak of such things. Not that he's reticent and untalkative, he's just remarkably unselfish. He doesn't like to trouble people with things that are unimportant. I can only hope that one day I can be that magnanimous. Unfortunately, I see myself as an eighty-three year old, wheelchair-bound senior-citizen, taking a certain perverse joy in detailing my aches and pains to my grandchildren... This is probably why my theoretical future grandchildren never visit me.
As for my Grandfather, however, the mere fact that we know he's in pain is testament to how excruciating it must be. It makes me grateful for a young, healthy body. However, there is also a certain amount of guilt connected to my Grandfather's condition. Realizing what a short time he has left has made me realize how very little I've done for my grandparents.
Don't get me wrong, me and my grandparents have always had an excellent relationship, brimming with love and respect (the respect being from me to them, of course). However, it's kind of hard to do things for one's ancestors when you live half a world away from them. So, I suppose I have something of an excuse, but that still doesn't make it right. Thus, I'm making it my mission to do something that will please my Grandfather in the time he has left: I'm learning to play the harmonica. So, should I irritate you, my friends, with some horribly executed pieces on the harmonica during the first few months of this upcoming semester, I don't want to hear about it. Your suffering is for the greater good.
As I sit here and contemplate this turn of events, I'm struck with a thought: what happened to the good old days? What happened to the days when people succumbed not to Parkinson's or Cancer, but to old age? As we hear it, in the past, people just died because their bodies got too old to function properly. They died at home, in their beds, surrounded by their loved ones, who got a chance to say goodbye. What happened to those days, and, more importantly, how can we bring them back?
As for my Grandfather, however, the mere fact that we know he's in pain is testament to how excruciating it must be. It makes me grateful for a young, healthy body. However, there is also a certain amount of guilt connected to my Grandfather's condition. Realizing what a short time he has left has made me realize how very little I've done for my grandparents.
Don't get me wrong, me and my grandparents have always had an excellent relationship, brimming with love and respect (the respect being from me to them, of course). However, it's kind of hard to do things for one's ancestors when you live half a world away from them. So, I suppose I have something of an excuse, but that still doesn't make it right. Thus, I'm making it my mission to do something that will please my Grandfather in the time he has left: I'm learning to play the harmonica. So, should I irritate you, my friends, with some horribly executed pieces on the harmonica during the first few months of this upcoming semester, I don't want to hear about it. Your suffering is for the greater good.
As I sit here and contemplate this turn of events, I'm struck with a thought: what happened to the good old days? What happened to the days when people succumbed not to Parkinson's or Cancer, but to old age? As we hear it, in the past, people just died because their bodies got too old to function properly. They died at home, in their beds, surrounded by their loved ones, who got a chance to say goodbye. What happened to those days, and, more importantly, how can we bring them back?