Tear Stained Blog

For Papaw - 3

Nov 3, 2009

It’s been eight months since my grandfather passed away. This past weekend, I spent the weekend at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. This house was my grandfather’s residence before he went into a nursing home, and the place where I spent several months helping to care for him after he’d suffered a stroke.

This was only the second time I’ve been in the house since Papaw’s death. I have a very hard time going throughout the house, because I’m reminded of the time I spent there two years ago.

If I stay in the living room I do just fine. Saturday night, I went into the kitchen to throw something away, and as I got to the trash can, I thought of being in the exact same spot before while getting Papaw’s medicine. I also noticed that the sliding pantry door that Papaw always left open, is now closed.

As I turned to leave the kitchen, I stared at the kitchen table, and although it’s not Papaw’s table, I still thought of him sitting there in the morning as I made his breakfast. He’d tell me, “Now don’t forget to put some of that chocolate cereal in there. And some of that canned milk, and apple butter.” He’d give these instructions every single morning.

The first time I fixed him breakfast, I put too much water in the oats and although I know he probably didn’t like it, he ate almost all of it. When I apologized for putting too much water in the oats, he told me, “It’s ok, you did a good job.”

The other room in the house I have a hard time going in, is the back bedroom. I spent most of my time in that room watching TV, while Papaw watched TV in the living room.

I went in the back bedroom Friday evening to change clothes, and I couldn’t stop thinking of all the time I’d spent in there. My brother and his wife have the furniture situated almost exactly like Papaw had his arranged. The TV and the stand it sits on are the only things in the room that were in there when Papaw still lived there.

When I left that room after changing clothes I headed to the living room. As I was heading in there, I remembered all the times Papaw would yell for me to come in and ask me to get him something, or help him in his wheelchair so he could use the bathroom, or get ready to eat dinner.

There is one room of the house I haven’t been in since the morning Papaw left for the nursing home. The middle bedroom. This was the room where Papaw slept and where I would dress him if he had doctor’s appointments or therapy.

I can’t bear to even look in that room now. I still expect to see the bed with his shoes under it. His TV tray with a drink and the remote control on it. This room was the last place in the house that we were in together.

Before he left for the nursing home, he thanked me for taking care of him. He told people at the nursing home that I took care of him just like a doctor would have.

I’m not sure if that’s true, but it’s a very nice compliment. As hard as it sometimes was, I am truly thankful that I could be there for him when he needed me. Just like he was there for me when I needed him.