"Becoming Strangers " by Kayla J

     “Once upon a time, there was once a man who loved his family very much. He worked the toughest jobs and the longest hours to feed his wife and two kids. As time went on he grew older and had many grandchildren, two of which he would become a second father to. He taught them how to peel an apple, play baseball and the best way to sneak snacks out of the kitchen to eat later. He would tell his grandchildren silly stories about how if you eat a watermelon seed then a watermelon baby would grow in your stomach and all the kids would pick out the seeds just in case. Even though he was poor, it didn't mean that they didn't have fun; infact, the memories were twice as sweet. One day, the two grandkids wanted to play baseball but had no ball, he could not afford it. Instead, he picked a lemon off of the tree that was still hard, not quite ripe and green and used that as the baseball. It was an absolute mess with lemon guts and seeds splattering along the ground and two kids soaked in the sticky sour juice. They laughed and laughed even as they rinsed off with the cold hose water so they wouldn't stick to every surface they touched. This man was a good man who gave his all to his family and raised me as his own for years when my parents weren't around. I love him and I miss him.” I finished my story and readjusted myself on the chair next to the hospital bed where an old man around the age of 90 lay. “Where is he now?” asked the silver haired man. “I’m sure he’s not too far away,” I respond.

     “If you have the time, bring him here to see me. I would like to meet him.” the old man responded tiredly. He fell asleep after a few minutes and I decided that I should head home before it gets dark. As i got up to leave, I turned and looked at the small old man asleep in his hospital bed. The way his thin silver hair looked like feathers and how his wrinkles traversed across his face like lightning showing years of hardship and laughter. I breathe in deep the smell of saline solution and the clean, steril smell hospitals have. The little old man with hazel eyes who was usually grumpy, asleep peacefully, smiling. His dementia getting worse as the days go by. I've seen him every other day for months, watching him drift farther and farther away. My heart grows heavy and my throat tightens like I’m choking as the tears roll down my face. Those who never have to experience this are lucky. To watch a loved one die and be forgotten or forget you like you never existed. Nothing left but stories and rooms full of strangers. I miss my grandfather wherever he may be, but the delicate old man who will spend the rest of his days in this hospital room is not him. Tucked away in memories is where he remains. I leave the man in the bed as a stranger, his grandchild, his kid.