“So what are you doing today?”
“Going to Nana’s, then we’re driving up to see Pop Pop,” mom said sipping a bowl of coffee.
I was home for spring break at the time. It had been several months since I last saw Pop Pop at the nursing home.
“Can I come with you?”
Mom paused mid sip and looked up from whatever article she was reading on her iPad.
“I think Pop Pop would love that.”
I left home knowing that I wouldn’t return the same. Mom told me Pop Pop was getting worse. To be honest, I dreaded seeing him. With each visit another piece of Pop Pop disappeared. This would be no picnic in the park, but you know, it was just one of those things that your gut tells you to do, even though you’re psyche really doesn’t.
Mom and I pulled to a quaint brick home. Nana and Pop Pop’s house just wasn’t the same without Pop Pop. It was like coming home without your dog there to greet you with slobbery kisses. Although, Nana’s were quite the contrary—her’s were sweet and soft.
Mom, Nana, and I got in the car and drove to the nursing home.
“You know, it’s time to start thinking about moving out of that big house,” Mom told Nana.
“I don’t want to think about any of that until he’s with Jesus,” Nana said clinging on to her Saint Mary necklace.
When we entered Morris Hall, the smell of Lysol whirled through the air. We passed several old folk in wheel chairs until we reached the guest room.
“You guys sit tight and I’ll roll him in for you,” the nurse said.
They sandwiched Pop Pop when he was brought in—Mom on the left, Nana on the right. I sat on the chair farthest away from him. He wasn’t as talkative as the last time, he couldn’t say my name let alone mutter a coherent word.
They spoke to him like a child, using high pitched, friendly tones. They asked him questions and made observations for him.
Nana fondled his white hair and said, “A nurse must have given you a haircut! You look so handsome.”
“Who’s that, Dad? Is that Tess? Your angle girl?” Mom said gesturing towards me. Pop Pop and I stared at each other. There wasn’t a smile on his face or a twinkle in his eye, just void. It was like the wit and personality was sucked right out of him.
I wanted to talk to him, but a lump started forming in my throat and my chin started to tremble. He gasped for breath, like he was trying to say something.
I cracked and burst. I couldn’t bare seeing him like that. I ran outside of the visitor’s room, sat on the floor and bawled.
“Aw, here ya go honey,” a nurse said handing me a box of tissues. Everyone saw me, even some of the patients. They knew why and let me be.
After about 30 minutes of intense crying, Nana came out and hugged me. Just when I thought I had no more tears left, they came streaming down my face again.
“I know, I know. Let’s hope God takes him soon, right?” Nana said.
I’ve never experienced the looming death of someone so dear to me. And what made it worse was that a little piece of him died every day. Pop Pop was withering away in his own mind. It was sad to think that this once jolly, lively man was now a breathing body. Sure he looked like Pop Pop, but he wasn’t acting like Pop Pop.
I knew I had to go back into that room and say goodbye. This was last time I wanted to see him…alive.
“Even though he can’t say it or show it, he still loves you,” Mom said when I creeped back into the room.
I kissed his withered forehead and said, “Bye Pop Pop. I love you.”
5 months later, I didn’t cry when I got the text from Mom saying that “Pop Pop is dancing with the angels.” I was more so relieved. Nana was relieved because he was with God, Mom was relieved because he wasn't suffering anymore, I was relieved because Pop Pop was physically gone, not metaphorically.
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