bye, baby, bye

Visiting a loved one in the nursing home is not the easiest thing to do. Grandad moved into the nursing home the week Megan was born. It is not the visiting itself that is difficult. Grandad likes not having to cook and seems to enjoy his new life and new friends. The first lady I met told me what a sweet gentleman he was. The difficult part is accepting how fast that sand seems to be flying through the hourglass and how quickly time is passing. When I think of Grandad, I still picture him holding the lawn chairs, waiting for Granny to get done talking so he can take her home from one of my ball games. I picture him just 10 years ago walking all over the farm and running and jumping around like he was decades younger. I picture him napping in the middle of Mom's living room floor after one of his hikes. At 91 he may have lost some of his agility, and he may be using a walker now, but Grandad is still the same Grandad. The visiting was not difficult. We discussed the weather, farming, fishing, Kevin's work, and how our new wood stove is working out. We discussed his "neighbors" and his brother and his health and the food. We discussed my work and he asked about the family. Grandad still has a very sharp memory. He still asks about all things outdoors. He still sings, "Bye, baby, bye, baby, bye," while rocking a new baby. He still gives hugs and kisses for hello and goodbye. His place of residence has changed. But he still walks me down the long hallway to the main front door, waits as I get in my vehicle and get buckled up, and waves with both hands as I drive away. The visiting was not difficult. I have to admit the driving away was.