My grandfather celebrated his 90th birthday yesterday. A momentous day; we had planned a lovely quiet luncheon at the local rowing club on the river, but instead I found myself huddled over his large vulnerable figure as he lay oddly huddled to one side in the hospital bed.
I had got the "guess what happened?" phone call this morning as I was getting ready to leave. It was my aunt telling me that my pop had had a fall and they think he may have broken his wrist.
"how are you pop?"
"awww terrible chris, awful".
My pop a male and therefore general over reactant to pain, winces. This time it's extra hard, and keeps on getting harder as Alzheimer disease tightens it's grip on his sanity. Every couple of minutes he's not sure why he's in pain, where he is, or who all these people are. He can't make out unfamiliar shapes in his broken eyes that fell victim to macular degeneration some years ago, nothing he sees makes sense, but he still tries to.
Happy birthday pop! A wry smile brushes across his lips... Yeah real happy.
My uncles and aunts passed through one by one , while I take turns with my younger cousin chasing my youngest daughter up and down the hospital corridor.
It's funny, these times are the nothingness of life, and yet in the scheme of things, they are what family is about, they are when love fills in the gaps.
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