One time, when my mom and step-dad, Brian, first started dating he was moving into a new apartment and was chatting with his new landlord.  I don’t remember all the specifics of how the conversation went (I was 8 when they started dating) but during the course of it they were talking about the best bosses they ever had and the landlord said that his was a manager he’d worked for at IBM.  Brian said that was funny because his girlfriend’s father worked at IBM for more than 30 years and her brother still did…well long story short, the best manager that man had ever had turned out to be my Grampa.

My Grampa was a force; I don’t think he ever stopped moving.  He worked out religiously both lifting weights and swimming, he was the only Grampa I ever knew that had a six pack.  He fixed and built things, he golfed, and he and my Gramma traveled. When my parents split up he helped my mom until she got on her feet and he did the whole family’s taxes until I was in my 20s. He taught us all how to budget and he would MERCILESSLY beat his grandchildren in card games and Connect4…not ONCE did he let me win at anything, so when I did beat him the first time, it was a big moment.  He was funny and charming and intelligent and he and my Gramma built a wonderful life together.

Today I visited that same man in a locked unit of a long-term care home, and even though he spent much of the time I was there holding my hand, he no longer has any idea who I am.  He’s 92 and has had dementia since he was in his 70s.  We’ve been fortunate it’s been a slow progression but of late, he’s declined rapidly.  He still smiles when he sees me because I think I’m familiar enough that he’s happy to see me, but he would never be able to tell you my name or how I’m connected to him.  His speech has suddenly changed dramatically, he’s losing his ability to swallow, and he’s in a wheelchair now and just rolls himself around the halls saying “help, help” but can’t tell you what he needs help with.  He’s just, frail and seems like a shell of who he used to be.

And I got to thinking on the way home, would he have done anything differently if he knew that the last decade of his life would go this way?  That all the memories he spent a lifetime making would be taken from him.  That he would spend his last days separated from the woman he said vows to 70 years earlier.  That he wouldn’t know his children or grandchildren.

People use the phrase “you can’t take it with you” a lot.  They mean don’t hoard your money or possessions, enjoy them while you can because we’re all going to die.  But what about when you’re kind of gone, before you’re actually gone?  How do we prepare for that?  We can’t just live life as though we’re for sure going to end up with dementia or confined to a wheelchair or a hospital bed, but we also know that it can happen.  My Grampa exercised religiously (though not obsessively), ate well, and worked very hard in all aspects of his life…and he’s ended up not knowing who anyone around him is or why he can’t go home; there are many that might ask, what’s the point?  Why not eat whatever you want and party all the time if it could end up all for not anyway?

I’ve been fortunate over the past couple years that I’ve been able to see my Grandparents basically weekly.  During my visits there was usually what we’d call the “theme of the day” – the thing that he was fixated on and repeated the most.  Sometimes it was about my dogs (they always came on my visits), sometimes it was about whether or not I worked there, sometimes it was how old I was and sometimes it would be him commenting that I hadn’t been there in a long time, or every so often he would think that I hadn’t ever been there.  I’d tell him that sometimes I work there, how old I am (to his complete shock…which only made me love him all the more), and that I had been there only the week before and many many times before that.  Usually he’d apologize for not remembering and say he just can’t remember things anymore and every time I’d tell him “it’s okay Grampa, I’ll remember for the both of us.”

And that’s why, I hope, if he could have known what was coming, he wouldn’t have changed anything; that he would have done all the things he did and set the amazing example and been the wonderful man that he has been…because he might not remember it, but I do.

No matter what you believe no one can KNOW what’s coming in our lives or what happens after, so sometimes it seems futile to do the right thing, never really knowing if it’s going to turn out – we can do all the “supposed to’s” and everything can still fall apart on us.  So why try?

Because it isn’t what we’re going to take with us – it’s what we’re leaving behind.  My Grampa may not remember much now, but many of his memories have been passed on and his values and lessons are treasured by so many people who knew him, so I hope that somewhere inside him he knows it was worth it; that everything he has done contributed to making so many of us who we are.  It’s still heart wrenching and infuriatingly sad and unfair…but if he can’t remember for himself, then the rest of us will remember for him.

I have a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on our fridge that says: 

“To laugh often and much: To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded.”

We don’t know what we can take with us but fortunately the intangible things that we leave behind – our memories, our values, our work ethic, our lessons – are infinitely more important. And that’s why I’ll still do the things I believe are right, even when they’re harder and less fun sometimes – because even if it doesn’t work out for me, hopefully what I leave behind will be worth it for someone else…that when I can’t remember, either because I’m not here or because my mind has slipped away from me a bit, that what I stood for will still be here; that maybe someone else will be just a little bit better off and they’ll remember for the both of us.