A morse code of love
A remembrance by Daria
I wasn’t really old enough to truly appreciate everything that Granda did for me, for my brother and our family. He met us at school and brought us home, he played in the backyard with us, he made us chip sandwiches, he made us laugh and feel safe. By the time he was diagnosed, I was still too young and still trying to understand myself— not to mention what was about to happen to him. But the most meaningful interactions came after he had already lost most of his memory and was in the long-term care home.
It was difficult for me to visit him, I was afraid. I was afraid of what was happening, and couldn’t understand how to interact with him. It broke my heart into a million pieces each time our eyes met and there was no recognition in them. It took some courage and a whole lot of reminding that he needs me too, even if he can’t say it, to get over this. I wanted to see him, I wanted to read Seamus Heaney’s poetry to him and hold his hand. And I did. And those moments, those memories, are crystal clear in my mind. He would wrap his fingers around yours and squeeze so tightly, squeeze in beats, as if it was morse code.
It was difficult to believe that Granda from Inverlochy Blvd. was the same Granda in the long-term care home.
I’m frustrated and angry. I hate that this happened to him, I hate that it happens to so many around the world and there’s nothing we can do about it. The worst part of all this is that he didn’t get to see who I’m becoming. He didn’t get to watch me become who I am today. I want things to be how they were, but that’s usually the case in life. All we can do is stay strong for those around us, do what we think is right, and support those in need.
My grandfather was an honest, funny, hardworking man who was loved by everyone. I miss his hugs. I miss the way he used to tease me, I miss his scratchy face. I miss his voice and his impressions of small dogs, and the cricket matches in the garage.
I recently ordered a cassette player. I found a tape in my dad’s office of Michael giving Ireland the lowdown on life in Adelaide. I cried when I heard him talk. I listened to it again when he died, for the entire night, and found myself filling in the pauses of his conversation with the tape.
Granda, I’m glad you’re safe and done suffering. There’s no point in being angry over the fact that none of us wanted to see this happen to you. I love you so much.
And I know you love me too (even if you said it in morse code).