A Spring of Joy

What if you couldn’t remember?

“What’s a memory?” he asked.
“Something warm, my child. something warm.”
“What’s a memory?” he asked.
“Something from long ago, me lad. Something from long ago.”
“What’s a memory?” he asked.
“Something that makes you cry, my boy. Something that makes you cry.”
“What’s a memory?” he asked.
“Something that makes you laugh, my darlin’. Something that makes you laugh.”
“What’s a memory?” he asked.
“Something as precious as gold, young man. Something as precious as gold.”

Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge by Mem Fox

I’m watching my grandfather go downhill quickly, and it is breaking my heart.

He’s forgetting things.

Conversations. People. Life.

My Pap, the one I am so close to. The one who used to make up stories with me, play wiffle ball in the back yard, tell me how to take care of my flowers, sing silly songs, build snowmen. The one who baked gazillions of Christmas cookies and grilled on his patio with silly aprons on. The one whose lap I would sit on for hours, even nap on, the smell of Old Spice soothing me to sleep.

As I’ve gotten older we would sit together and talk about those days. What it was like before his strokes and heart attacks.

Memories. There are so many of them. Every one with my grandfather in them is wonderful.

And he’s starting to forget.

So I hold onto them for him. And I remind him.

And I hold onto them for me, too.

Because those memories.

They are precious.

And my Pap?

He’s “Something as precious as gold, young man. Something as precious as gold.”