My Mom had been there a few weeks earlier to help him prepare to be on his own because his girlfriend whom he lived with had passed away. She said he was doing okay and was persistent about being well enough to be on his own, though my mother and I both wondered. At my Mom’s request I double checked on him while traveling from Toronto to Chicago. After arriving everything seemed well though, the only apparent problem seemed to be what to do, or say for that matter while I was there. He doesn’t say much at all, I asked my mom once if that was old age that made it seem as if he could never give much more than a few words in response to just about anything. She said he’d always been that way and that perhaps he’s just a product of his time in so far as he worked, came home, watched TV and went to bed. Normally I don’t mind because I’m not talkative either but now it was just him and I for a couple days for the only time I can remember. It wasn’t much of a problem at first because it was a short night. He wanted to go to bed at 9:30 and all he wanted to do till then was watch game shows. I just sat there wondering if this is all he does everyday. When I ask if he’d like to do anything else while I’m there he says he can’t imagine what. And when I suggest some things to do and ask him about what there is to do he’s sure to add on “You could do that”. Somehow it’s pretty apparent that he’s content, having a game show channel and a golf channel, that’s all he seems to want or need at this point in his life.

At the end of the night I went to the very pink and dusty extra bedroom and tried my best to sleep that early. I woke up eight hours later from the light coming in beneath the blinds and realized it was barely six in the morning. I wasn’t even aware I could wake up that early without the aid of an alarm clock. I laid there in the dim light wondering exactly how long the day would seem. I was fairly certain my Grandpa had little more than ten to twelve hours of golf and game shows in store for us. I tried to think of things we could talk about but we had just about nothing in common I could think of. My Grandpa was moving around by then in the kitchen. I went in, we had some cereal. After a bit I blurt out, “What did you do for work when you were younger?”
“Worked with computers.”
“Like what exactly?”
“Don’t really remember, we worked with the punch cards and such.”
“What was my mom like as a kid?”
“She was a doll.”
I nod a bit knowing if I ask really anything I’m not going to hear much back in detail. I don’t know why it was but I thought somehow I should say something. Talk about anything. Right after my questions he moved to the couch and turned on the TV, it was time for Lingo he said. I sat on the other couch and helped him guess words, watched some golf with him and left a couple days later.

I’m sitting here next to his bed now and they’re drawing his blood. Aside from the prick of the needle he’s perfectly alright, content as he is. I ask if there is anything I can bring him or do for him but there’s nothing. The tests come back negative, he can go back in the morning. I call home to tell what happened, that everything is alright. I stay for the afternoon, watch some TV with him, get him his meal, make sure he has all his stuff for the ride back to the retirement home. I wonder what might happen after I leave, feeling a bit conflicted about it. I know I have to head back before it gets too late because it’s a long drive to Chicago. I wonder if there’s anything I could ask before I leave, but I don’t know what I’d expect to hear. We say goodbye, and as I drive back I wonder if I’ll have anything more to say to someone when I’m in his position.

Continue reading at Slash Magazine by Adam Bernales

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