Of giants...

My Grandpa was a giant.

Not a giant in terms of size. Certainly not. If anything, he was and is probably a little shorter than average. Especially now. No, he was a giant in that through my young eyes, he was amazing.

I have a brother and five cousins, making Grandpa a seven-time grandfather (and a three-time great-grandfather to boot). I was first and my youngest cousin is the only other girl--with five boys and more than ten years between. I'm sure we all have different memories, so I can only share mine.

Grandpa was somewhat of a study in contrasts. Strong, yet gentle. Intimidating, yet kind. Active, yet passive. Brilliant, yet down-to-earth. Tough, yet humorous.

I vivedly remember jockeying to sit next to him at family dinners--large and small... mostly small as I was relegated to the kids' table for large family dinners. I don't know what was so special about sitting next to Grandpa at dinner, but it was a HUGE deal to this little girl! Perhaps it stemmed from him "saving my life" when I was a mere tyke. You see, I was on the dock with Grandpa and I picked up the end of a coiled piece of rope and started walking backward. Problem was, the rope wasn't attached to anything. While Grandpa was pulling up the crab trap, I backed right off the other end of the dock. Upon hearing the splash, he came over and plucked me out. No harm done. Almost 40 years later, I still love the water. But Grandma had a conniption, and I'm quite certain Grandpa never heard the end of it. It's still an oft-told and laughed about story in my family.

After Grandma died in 1986, I mostly saw Grandpa at the shore. He started his day with a swim in the bay and followed it up with coffee, two fried eggs, and toast. Every day. During the day he kept busy with a seemingly endless variety of activies fit for an active retiree and widower living at the shore: tending to his garden, sitting in his yard waging battle against the crabgrass, rowing to the little island in the bay to check his mussel traps, scrubbing barnacles from the bottom of the boat, pulling up and checking the crab traps on the dock, reading, listening to his opera music, riding his bike into town for the newspaper...

There was ALWAYS a book within his reach, and he has probably read a large percentage of the books at the local library. I remember how excited he was when the library at the shore was enlarged. More books! His passion for reading has been passed to his children and on to at least some of his grandchildren. I know my brother and I are both avid readers, and his great-grandchildren all love to read, as well. Not a bad trait to pass along.

When I was in middle school, my dad and my grandfather tried to teach my brother and me to waterski. For my part, it was a disaster. The one time I actually got up on the skis, I did a face plant right into the water. But Grandpa skied that day. And he was in his 70s!

As the years went by, there was a diagnosis of (and recovery from) prostate cancer, less weeding, a smaller garden, no more mussel and crab harvesting, and less boat scrubbing. He dropped the morning swim. The crab grass won. The print in the books got larger, and the bike rides to town became less frequent as he battled balance issues.

But still he swam every afternoon. And every afternoon, he had his gin and tonic.

Over the past five or so years, there has been decline--quite noticeable to me because I, unfortunately, see him only twice a year. Less presence in conversation, greater memory of the past than the present, weight loss, more issues with balance, cataract surgery, forgotten names here and there. Normal for people in their ninth decade. Not normal for giants.

His days began to revolve around his favorite chair... the one from which he could look out over the bay, hold court over those gathered in the living room, and see who was coming up from downstairs. He still enjoyed reading and listening to his operas. But there was significantly less activity. For safety reasons (and probably not necessarily by his own choice), he went out in the boat only when someone took him and swam only when someone swam with him.

Today Grandpa moved into an apartment in an assisted living facility.

At 95, he is but a shadow of once giant self.

Today, he has good days and bad days.

On his good days he is the same engaging, inquisitive, engineering-minded Grandpa from my youth. The one who had an answer to any question an adoring grandchild could come up with. The one who would take his teeth out for the tenth time that day just because it fascinated those same silly grandchildren. The one who was quick to tell his grandchildren to "keep it down," and just as quick to tease his great-grandchildren years later by pretending not to know their names and calling them "Charlie," "Jake," and whatever else came to mind, much to their giggling amusement.

On his bad days he is confused, angry, ornery, and at times even belligerent.

Today, from what I'm told, the bad days outnumber the good ones.

Today, I hope that with the assistance he'll receive going forward, the good days will soon, once again, outnumber the bad.

Today, I am excited about the many opportunities he will have for socialization, activities, and learning in his new home... and I hope he will be able to take advantage of those opportunities.

Today, I know he will be safer in his new home than he was in either of the homes he has lived in for most of his adult life.

Today, I think my family is comforted by the fact that he is in a safe environment and help is a few steps away should he need it.

Today, perhaps the shadow shrunk just a little and the giant gained back some of his lost strength.

I really hope the caregivers at Grandpa's new home have training in the care and feeding of giants!