Happy Birthday, Papaw!

Today is my grandfather’s birthday. He is 77. But until years past, he no longer knows who he is. Dementia. It is a horrible, unforgiving disease and it smacks in my face today. While I am grateful that his quality of life is still wonderful—after all he’s 77—it is his lack of existence that I hate.

To look at him is to see a face etched with the lines of a good life. But his eyes show hints of confusion instead of joy. His lips are less quick to smile and often reflect worry. It seems as if his life’s breath has left him.  It's unusual--like his body his here, but his spirit has left.

I often think he says my name because he hears others and long to hear the ‘same old stories’. I wish to hear his laugher, see his joy, and relish in his nonsense. Instead I find myself clinging to memories and avoiding the present. It’s too sad. I must find a way to reconcile with this change.

Dear readers, I beg you. Take the time to love. Love now. Love more…because tomorrow may be too late.