I cannot recall my first memory of my grandfather, Geraldo. Maybe because he was always there.
When I was born, he split his time between Paris, where I lived, so he could watch me grow, and Rio de Janeiro, where he now lives full-time. Picking me up from school, dealing with my tantrums, and taking me to the movies. After I moved to New York when I was 6, he came to visit frequently, and I spent a month in Rio with him every summer.
When I moved to Portugal at 23, I hoped my grandfather would visit me, but I couldn’t have dreamt of what our relationship would become. It’s only been two and a half years, and he’s already visited five times. I should get him a frequent visitor card.
I love caring for him
There is something truly marvelous about caring for those who cared for you. Driving him around, making him tartar and banana pancakes, even just pouring him coffee; these simple things fill me with joy.
He is one of my favorite family members. He makes me laugh an exorbitant amount with his funny facial expressions, ridiculous reactions, and cynical jokes. One time he visited, I made iced coffee, and he eyed me like I was insane.
I cherish our time together
He finds joy in everything. He’s said things to me like “This coffee is terrific,” or “The octopus salad is even better than the one yesterday,” and “It’s so beautiful to see you like this.”
Not only does his attitude make him the best guest — so easy to please — but it also fills me with hope that I, too, will age like him, able to see the beauty in all that lies around.
That’s not to say that he doesn’t love to complain about just about everything; he is an old man who spent decades living in France, after all, but it’s always with a cheeky tinge. The weather was particularly gruesome on his last visit. When in Rio, he complains because it’s dangerous, loud, and unbearably hot. He jokes that he’s going to move here, or we could swap houses, and honestly, I’m considering it.
He was diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s
My grandfather was 62 when I was born, which means I got to know him as an adult. I get to take him to lunch, introduce him to my friends — they all love him — and hear his stories. I realize it isn’t something everyone gets. For that, I am eternally grateful. It’s easy to think that intergenerational relationships are most valuable in childhood, but they can flourish most in adulthood.
Since his first visit to Portugal, my grandfather has been diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s. I witnessed him constantly searching for his wallet and phone, how he accidentally left my apartment door open, sending me into a “where’s-my-cat-frenzy,” and how he asked over and over which day we were flying to France. At first, I was unable to comprehend how memory can fail my PhD professor’s grandfather. Then I thought of all the people who would dream of having this much time with theirs.
We probably only have a few good years left. Sometimes I catch myself crying about what’s to come. I know grief well, so I know the devastation I will feel, but instead of letting it consume me, I choose to turn it into a “yes” to every opportunity to see him, host him, show him more of my life, and learn all I can from his.
So I take many photos, hug him as much as I can, hope for more visits, and share this advice: if your grandparents can still travel, have them come visit. In the future, you will thank yourself.
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