Dec. 17, 2003
When I was younger, I thought my family would live forever. In my childhood naiveté, I honestly believed that.
But I faced reality when I last saw my aging grandfather in Bangladesh a year ago and realized nobody lives forever.
Before seeing him, I had this image of my grandfather as the dynamic, all-knowing former police chief of Dhaka, who would take walks daily through the neighborhood and have no problem sitting a grandson or two on his lap for story time. But that was years ago.
When I got off the plane, what I saw was not what I pictured. My grandfather, in the later stages of Alzheimer's disease, can barely walk to the kitchen from his bedroom without help, let alone walk the neighborhood. I'm afraid if he tries to sit any one of his grandchildren on his knees, his legs might just give up.
While a few years ago it was funny when he kept calling me by my cousin's name, it was anything but funny to see him unable to remember anyone's name at all.
I'm glad that I got to see my grandfather, though. Shades of his former self came out even in the disease's grip. Though the infallible image of him is shattered, I would have felt much worse had I never seen him again at all.
I'm scared now when I start to see some of the signs of old age in my father. On my Thanksgiving visit home, I noticed him munching on something called rice bread. It turns out that everything he eats must be free of wheat-based products or it could possibly kill him.
I still find some of his old-man traits funny. I've never seen anyone so excited about plaid sweater-vests. And his taste in hats is just a few years behind the times.
While it's humorous now to hear him refer to my cousin as "the boy who lives in Westchester — you know, my brother's son," when he can't remember my cousin's name, I worry what it means for the future. I'm afraid he might follow in his father's footsteps.
I feared hitting 20 because it meant I was a fifth of a century old. Yet it's not as scary as reaching three-fifths and nearly an entire century old, as my father and grandfather are.
I'll be there one day too, unless I figure out how to reverse the aging process first. Unlikely, since I'm a writer and not a scientist. But then again, even they can't figure it out.
When I'm old though, I hope my grandchildren hop on my lap to listen to my stories, even if it breaks my legs. I'll appreciate the visit, whether I remember who they are or not.
The genXchange column appears every other Wednesday. Today's writer is Wasim Ahmad. E-mail him at wahmad@pressconnects.com.
© 2003 Press & Sun-Bulletin, Binghamton, N.Y.