Grandfather

My grandfather is a very simple man with simple tastes and has lived by simple philosophies. At least that's how it seems to me. He's 92. In good health but with his memory fast-deteriorating especially in the last year or two. Even in his old age, however, it is very easy to take care of him. After some sixty something years of marriage, my grandmother passed away. Ever since, he's been moving to house to house in Kohima, each of his children's families taking turns to host and take care of him. In my years away, whenever I'd come home for the holidays, I used to enjoy listening to his stories. Over time, life becoming busy, it's been rather difficult to find time for him.

He loved to read, sing hymns and chat up anyone who would drop in to visit. Lately, there's less of it. With his failing memory, we have had to introduce ourselves every other day, tell him what time of the day it is, announce morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner. Or show him which way the bathroom is, where to put the lights on or how, orient him with the passages of the house as though he were new. On some days we have to remind him whose house he is living in only to be asked the same question a moment or two later. I ask him how old he is and his answers vary from 94 to 96 from day to day. I then have to remind him that he was born in 1919 and this is year 2012 which makes him 92, to turn 93 this November.

My mum worries sometimes, to see her father forgetting who she is on some days though not often. Perhaps his insistence that he hasn't had lunch yet when he actually has seems less funny on some days than on others. I tell her not to worry. That this is just part of life. That for him, life is coming to a full circle as it is for us. I met him downstairs this afternoon. He was near the kitchen and asked me for some water. He then asked me whose house it was. I took him out for a walk around the house. It was a warm afternoon but a strong breeze was blowing. I sat with him on the bench outside. His eyes, I've noticed, seems to have that glaze that old people have. It seems even more distinct lately. I asked him if he ever dreams of grandma. He stared into space for sometime. And then he said he did. He sees her in his dreams sometimes. Sometimes he dreams of them together, sometimes they just pass each other. We see his loneliness. With many of his peers long dead. On some days he seems to long for death. Perhaps he is weary.

There are many things I could learn from his life. He wasn't an 'influential' man in a way that many 'powerful' men have. But living an honest life in humility guided by a reverence for his god and living by his beliefs, he's had a good life, and he is still a blessing to many. So, on days when I become too consumed by deceit and selfish ambition, I think of him. And simple though his life has been, it has been an honest life guided by a theology that he accepted and lived by. A life of simple faith with long-lasting rewards. A life uncomplicated by cynicism and doubts mine seems to be plagued with. I don't mean to romanticize his life as plain joyful with no hardships. But there seems to be something there. Something proved by a lifetime of lived experiences and the fruits borne. I have never had any emotional attachment to any of my grandparents. He's the closest I feel to. And I will be terribly sad when he leaves. But I know that he's left behind a legacy of the goodness of a god in whom simple faith put into action is sometimes all that seem to matter.