answered a few of them, I usually ended up phoning him after receiving one of his missives. It was easier for me, and I can be lazy about some things, like putting pen to paper; I’m not proud of it, but that’s who I am. On the phone he was as clearheaded as ever. Older, of course, and maybe taking a bit longer to find the word he wanted, but certainly nothing that would indicate dementia severe enough to prompt a journey to a place he’d never mentioned before.
But staring at him as he lay unconscious made me wonder whether I was wrong about all of it. In the late-afternoon light, his skin took on a grayish pallor; by the evening, his breathing sounded painful. Though visiting hours were over, the staff at the hospital didn’t kick me out. I’m not sure why—perhaps because I was a physician, or because they could tell how much I cared for him. As nightfall came and went, I continued to sit with him, holding his hand and talking to him the entire time.
By morning, I was exhausted. One of the nurses brought me coffee, reminding me despite my exhaustion that there are good people everywhere. My grandfather’s physician came by on his rounds; I could tell by his expression after checking my grandfather that he was thinking the same thing I was: The kind, old man was entering the final stages of his life. Maybe hours left, maybe a day, but not much more than that.
It was around noon on that last day that my grandfather shifted slightly in his bed, his eyes fluttering halfway open. As he attempted to focus, I noticed the same confusion the nurses had described, and I leaned closer to his bed, squeezing his hand.
“Hey, Grandpa, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
He turned his head, only a little, but as much as he could.
“It’s me, Trevor. You’re in the hospital.”
He blinked slowly. “Tre…vor.”
“Yeah, Grandpa, it’s me. I came as soon as I heard. Where were you going?”
I felt him squeeze my hand.
“Help…care…and…”
“Of course,” I said. “They’re taking good care of you.”
“If…you…can…”
Each word croaked out between ragged breaths.
“Collapsed…”
“Yes, Grandpa. You had a stroke.” As I said it, I wondered if he’d been more ill than I suspected; in that same instant, I recalled that his wife had had epilepsy.
“Sick.”
“You’ll be okay,” I lied. “And we’ll go take care of the bees and take the boat out, okay? Just you and me. It’ll be like old times.”
“Like…Rose…”
I squeezed his hand again, hating his confusion, hating that he didn’t know what had happened to him. “Your beautiful bride.”
“Find…family…”
I didn’t have the heart to remind him that his wife and daughter had long since passed away, that I was the only family he had left.
“You’ll see Rose soon,” I promised. “I know how much she loved you. And how much you loved her. She’ll be waiting for you.”
“Go…to…hell…”
I froze, wondering if I’d heard him right. If he was attempting some kind of joke, it was one that would be out of character for him. “It’s okay, I’m here,” I repeated.
“And…run…away.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said. “I’m staying right here. I love you,” I said, bringing his wizened hand to my face. His expression softened.
“Love…you…”
I could feel the wellspring of tears beginning to form and tried to keep them at bay. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
“You…came…”
“Of course I came.”
“Now go…”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to stay right here. For as long as it takes, I’m staying with you.”
“Please,” he whispered, and then his eyes closed. That was the last thing he said to me. Less than two hours later, he took his final breath.
* * *
On the night he died, as I lay awake in a nearby hotel, I relived those last moments with my grandfather. I puzzled over the things he’d said, finally sitting up in bed to write them down on the notepad next to the phone, combining some of the words into phrases that I thought made the most sense.
Trevor…help care…and…if you can…collapsed…sick…like Rose…find family…go to hell…and run away…love you…you came…now go…please
There’d been a bit of rambling, some disassociation, but at least he’d recognized me. He’d told me that he loved me, and for that I was grateful. I’d told him that I wouldn’t leave, and I was glad I hadn’t. The thought that he might have died alone was nearly enough to break my heart.
After I’d finished the note, I folded the paper and stuck it in