Like many grandchildren growing up, I saw my grandfather as full of sage wisdom. He was someone who I always saw as a bastion of stoic love. So in these past few weeks, I couldn’t believe what I saw as he was brought to the lowest point I’ve ever seen him. Allow me to fill you in…
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My grandmother, like so many other elderly, has been affected by Alzheimer’s and/or Dementia. My family and I do not which it is because she has adamantly refused being looked at by a doctor (and my grandfather couldn’t convince her). In recent months, the condition has worsened to wear she has been having episodes of lashing out at my grandfather, trying to pack up and leave, or just having general confusion. It has gotten so awful that my grandfather has deferred the decisions and asked for help of my mother and uncle in helping deal with everything.
My mother has been helpful in trying to become a greater presence in their lives, but she cannot be there everyday. One day, in particular, my grandmother had an especially bad episode. She forced my mother and grandfather to call the police and paramedics who forcibly removed her from the house and took her to the emergency room. From there my grandfather was left with two difficult choices:
- Take my grandmother home but ensure she takes new medications as well as comes in for regular doctor check-ups.
- Move her into a memory care home.
My mother and uncle pushed for the second option. They didn’t believe my grandmother would be able to stick to medications and go in for doctor visits considering how resistant she has already been. And so my grandfather, exasperated and defeated, chose to move her into a home.
It is important that you know that my mother has thus far kept me from being involved with the situation. She felt it was hers and my uncle’s responsibility to take care of their parents. I’ve agreed, it is something they should’ve looked into for a long time. But I still wanted to feel useful. I wanted to bring some sort of comfort to my grandparents in their situation.
Eventually, my mother said I should go and spend some time with my grandfather and so I immediately dropped what I was doing and drove the hour-length trip to see him. When I walked into the house, my heart broke.
My grandfather, who in my eyes was always this superhero-like figure and pillar of manly strength and wisdom, was wasting away. He had lost so much weight. His face was sunken and downtrodden. He carried with him the air of defeat, desperation, and sorrow. I nearly broke down as I sat at the table with him as he ate his meager lunch.
In addition to everything going on with my grandmother, my grandfather was also dealing with his own troubles of some extreme vertigo and loss of hearing (bordering on deafness). Both of these he has been unable to get into a doctor to see about due in tandem to my grandmother’s illness and the COVID-19 quarantine. He strained to hear as we attempted to catch up. Occasionally he would share a tidbit about my grandmother and gentle tears would fall down his cheeks.
The entire visit was foreign to me. Never before did I think I would be the one consoling my grandfather. It had never occurred to me that this person who I thought was invincible and so strong could be brought down so low. I have never considered myself a “manly man” in my life; I’ve always tended to feel very deeply which I would compensate by putting on a face of stoicism. The more time I spent with him in this state of desperation, I began see that there was more to my grandfather than the strong man I had grown up with.
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My conception of manhood has varied over my life. When I was young, I used to believe that it was deeply entrenched in the weak values that we now call fragile masculinity: a very one dimensional way of thinking about manhood. As I’ve grown, my views have expanded and I believe masculinity can stretch across a spectrum.
Even so, there was also something mythic about my grandfather in the weight that he shouldered across the years. His unflappability in the face of difficult times. From his example, despite my liberal views, I’ve always carried this belief that, to a certain extent, manhood should also mean being able to persevere through anything. To walk the fiery coals of any situation and emerge on the other side — albeit burned and scarred.
Seeing him at his worst and defeated from this situation with my grandmother made me ask the question, “Have I misinterpreted my grandfather all these years?”
As I noted before, there would be these moments of opening up where my grandfather would note something about my grandmother. She had hidden money all over the house. Three times she had packed the car in a state of delirium. I would offer as much consolation as I could, but we would just bask in these moments, allowing ourselves to feel. At one point, he looked at me and just said, “It’s tough.” To this, I responded, “Yeah, you’re right. This is really tough.” And we sat in that moment, sharing in the sadness and feelings of sorrow.
In my reflection, I’ve wondered what it has meant that he has acquiesced to the situation. That he has admitted that he can’t shoulder it all alone. What I have come to the conclusion is that there is a great difference between shouldering everything alone and suffering everything alone. As I said, I don’t believe manhood is one definable thing, it is a spectra of behaviors and ways of living.
The way my grandfather has lived, and in what I have adopted, is that we are caretakers. We want to shoulder the weight of all situations. This is neither good or bad, it’s just a choice for which we accept the consequences. But in our failures, or our inabilities, to shoulder the responsibility of everything, we do not need to suffer in silence. And this is the lesson that I have learned from the ordeal my grandfather has had to endure.
I believe a lesson for any man — or any person who wishes to call themselves a man or embody manly traits — that is universal to any lifestyle, is admitting when you are defeated. I do not mean “defeated” in the sense that you have lost…this would imply a dichotomy of winning and losing and life is not that simple. But defeat in the sense that you cannot continue acting or shouldering responsibility in the way you have. And there is no shame in this. I do not look down on my grandfather or see him in any lesser light. If anything I admire him even more so because I understand the great suffering he must have had to endure to be brought so low.
In the face of adversity, it is our choice of weathering the events alone. But in being overcome by life, I think there is great strength in admitting we have been overwhelmed. Even if it is for brief moments, we can open up and look at one another and admit, “Yes, it’s tough.” We are not lesser for doing so.
What my grandfather has shown me about manhood is that it is okay to feel and to feel with others. We can still be strong, but still suffer greatly and there is strength greater still in opening up to one another about the pain.
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Previously published on “Change Becomes You”, a Medium publication.
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Photo credit: Ian Noble on Unsplash