Laughter gets you through.

Over the past few years, I have watched what I have known my entire life to be my grandfather and who he is slowly become taken away by a disease that doesn't quite seem as bad as one might think...

...but I'm here to tell you...

...it's worse.
It's worse than you can ever imagine.

I have watched one of the most active, independent men slowly regress to the point of no return.


...and over the past week or two?
It's only gotten worse.


I remember when I found out.
It was my freshman year of college, and I was walking through the Delta Chi parking lot on the way back from the Intramural Field after a game of flag football, when my mom called.

"We went to the doctor today with Peppy, and he has Alzheimer's."

I stopped dead in my tracks and asked,

"How long do I have before I come home and he doesn't know who I am?"


It's a horrific conversation to have, but even when you feel like you're at your most horrified about it, it only gets worse.

When they start babbling on and on about things that don't make sense,
or seeing little tiny people appear out of nowhere,
or get angry because you ask them not to uproot your grandmother's plants,
or cry because they can't remember someone's name...

...those things?

Those things are the things that break your heart.
Those things are the things that terrify you to your core because, the truth of the matter is that it's hereditary, and you may one day be the exact same way.

It's a scary thought, but even scarier than the thought of watching it all go down.


It begins to take a lot to make you cry because you can't help but do anything but laugh... because if you don't laugh? 

Well, then that's when you start to lose your mind just as quickly as the person who has the brain- and mind-deteriorating disease.

Laughter is the key to making it through.
Laughter and love.
and memories.

The good memories make it all  better.

Remembering his stories about softball,
or his silly songs and cantations,
or the way he laughed at himself,
or the his habit of picking up trash (no matter where he was),
or his obsession with walking,
or even the way he would get so mad sometimes that you thought he loathed you...



(I love those memories.
and I'll have 'em forever.)


With all this,
I've developed an especially devout respect for my grandmother and the things she puts up with on a daily basis.

I will love her forever for doing the things she does for my grandfather, and I will do anything to help her out.  It takes a strong woman to do what she's doing, especially emotionally.


I just hope that a least a few more times
(before it's all said and done)
that my Peppy miraculously remembers my name...
even if it's to call me "PeeWee" since that's what he always called me anyway...
because selfish or not, I think that's his way of telling me he loves me

and always will.