Grandpa

The bond between a grandparent and grandchild is one that cannot be broken.

I was five years old when Grandpa moved in with us. I asked Mother why he did not speak, and she said it was because of a stroke. I didn’t know what a stroke was, but it didn’t matter much. I could communicate with him in the same way a toddler could communicate with a baby. Mother would stare as my grandfather grunted and groaned, but I understood. If Mother asked him what he wanted for lunch, he would incoherently respond, and I would say, “A chicken sandwich.” I would be correct. I always was. Grandpa and I were closer than two peas in a pod. He always knew when I was angry or upset. If I came home from school after a bad day, he would lift me into his giant lap, and I would not even need to tell him what had happened. He would already know, and he would give me a treat of some sort to make it all better. I loved that man, and as a young child, I thought he would always be there for me. I was a stubborn little girl. When all of my classmates spent their free time reading, I would spend mine playing around. I refused to read in school along with the other students, and my grandfather changed that. He began to write me notes, and when I complained, he would look at me and smile. I wanted to know what these letters said, so I busied myself by studying my ABC’s until I was Master of the Words. Grandpa’s letters were never long, mostly short notes stating his love for me, but they were special all the same. Grandpa taught me many things, this being only one of them. By the time I was seven, Grandpa began to lose his mind, and he would look at me with a blank stare. I didn’t know what was wrong, but Mother called it Alzheimer’s. On the rare occasion in which he appeared to recognize me, he would write my name down as Sarah, but my name was not Sarah. I cried myself to sleep because I felt as if I was losing my best friend. Another stroke sent my grandfather to the hospital when I was nine years old. Mother pulled me out of class because of it, and we drove to the hospital. The doctors doubted he would make it. Grandpa was now a quadriplegic, and he lay motionless in a mechanical bed with white sheets. I had always thought of my grandfather as a large man, but he now looked so small and frail. Mother told me to say goodbye, but I couldn’t get the words out. She had left me alone with him, but this tiny man was no longer my grandfather. A tear slid down my face, and I was about to leave the hospital room because I could not take it, but a gruff voice held me back. “Susie,” it said. I spun around at the sound of my name. The only person in the room other than me was my grandfather. I stared at him in disbelief. “Susie,” he repeated, and I threw my child-sized arms around him and wept onto his chest. After his death a day or so later, Mother told me about Sarah. Sarah was my mother’s sister, but she had died as a small child. Mother said I looked just like her, and after being shown a picture, I had to agree. She had the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, and the same gap-toothed grin. I could see how Grandpa confused me with my Auntie Sarah, his youngest daughter, my mother’s baby sister. I told Mother about Grandpa saying my name, but she didn’t believe me. I told my father, and he said it could not be. Even the doctors laughed when I notified them about the situation. It did not matter what these people said because I knew what I had heard. Grandpa had said my name, and I still believe that to this day. I like to think that his love for me broke the chains of reason and released him from his silent curse.  Anything is possible, and our bond was greater than any laws within the world.

Author's Note

Critiques requested.

Reviews

[Andromeda]

This story is adorable and tragic! I love the idea, the characters, everything...only thing I wish was different is that I wish it were longer. I think you should slow the pace down a lot, include more scenes, help us to know the characters even more than we do now.
Great work!