The golf cart Granddad and I were riding in slowly made its way along the winding roads of the cemetery, where we’d come to finalize the arrangements for Grandma’s funeral. The August heat clung to us. It seemed to take forever to reach the burial plot.
“It’s a good thing you’re seeing where everything is because you’ll be back here for me soon,” he said. His voice was as expressionless as his eyes were behind his glasses.
He’s given up, I thought. I opened my mouth to console him, but no words would come. This is what happens. A couple that’s been together this long—76 years—when one dies, the other follows.
For the past five years, I’d helped him care for his beloved wife, Charity, as Alzheimer’s disease stole her from us. Now he needed me to help him find his footing again, a reason to live. But I was grieving too. And one thing I knew about Granddad: Once he got fixed on something, there was no changing his
mind.
At 97, my grandfather, Clifford Thomas, had seen his share of battles. He’d served in the Army in World War II, his segregated unit fighting its way across Italy. Back home, he’d become one of the first African-American chefs for Marriott, where he’d worked for 40-plus years. Discipline. Routine. Protocols. Those were Granddad’s keys to life, supported by a faith that was just as unwavering.
His no-nonsense manner and gruff voice made him seem grumpy and demanding to most people. He could be hard on his children, especially my mother, and the younger grandchildren, whom he chastised for being too rambunctious. Showing up five minutes late for Christmas dinner would mean you were actually 10 minutes late and earn you a look you wouldn’t soon forget.
When Grandma was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Granddad was always correcting her when she got confused, thinking he could help her cope through sheer determination. “You don’t need to be doing that,” he’d say sharply when she’d do the dishes a second or third time. “Leave those dishes alone.”
“Granddad, she’s not hurting anything. Just let her be,” I’d tell him. I visited evenings and weekends to help. I could see the toll that caregiving was taking on him. This man who thrived on order was losing control by the day, losing his connection to the woman he’d loved since high school. Deep down his fear must have been terrible.
I beseeched God to give him strength. Still, Granddad was determined to take care of Grandma at home until the end. In that he’d prevailed...read more
