Heavy...

My grandfather has dementia.

He was diagnosed probably about 4 years ago but for the 5 years prior to that he was fading slowly and most of us didn't know it. My grandfather is and always has been anti anything that constrains or crimps his style. My dad says that he has "wanderlust". I think that's an absolutely accurate description, it also describes several of his grandkids.

My grandfather has been married maybe about 6 times, no one really knows for sure, he has carried on simultaneous families in separate cities, has an unknown amount of children and didn't really have a real role in raising any of them.

I grew up seeing him about once a month for about 20 mins to an hour typically at his hangout spot, a donut shop in south LA. We would pull up to the place, my dad would leave me in the car to go figure out where my grandfather was, just in case he was somewhere "indisposed" with a lady friend. He'd collect himself come grab me, buy me a donut, he and my dad would chat about nothing, he'd take our picture-careful to reach into the pocket containing the camera and not the one with the gun, and we'd leave. On holidays/special occasions we'd make a brief stop at his actual house that he and his 6th(?) and final wife shared.

That's the grandpa I've always known, skirt chasing, picture taking, gun toting, trash talking grandpa.

I know that while he had the family with my granny, he also managed to sire an additional family in Vegas with children of similar ages to my dad and aunt. I know that after going back and forth for some time, he finally left my granny (or more clearly was told not to come back by my granny) to be with some other woman here in LA. He drove a Harley well into his 70's, took an annual road trip back to Texas usually with whatever girlfriend he had at the time. He was one of the nicest, happiest, most jovial/easy going men I've ever known. He was charming, clearly.

Now he's coming up on 86 and he is a mere shell of the man I knew.

My dad is his only child, of only God knows how many, that has made any effort to care for him in his old age. I'm proud of him for doing that. It's arguable that he doesn't have to, his father was never there for him, his father never made an effort to reach out to him, without his own efforts he wouldn't even know where my grandfather was living. But when my grandfather started believing that $100 were $1 bills, and thought that peanut butter could take the place of his diabetes meds, my dad stepped in. Shouldering all the costs, filling out all the paperwork, figuring out all the legal, talking to doctors, and making frequent visits. It's been touching to say the least.

To help him with some of the leg work of my grandfathers care I've immersed myself in elder care issues in the past two days. We're trying to find a new facility, that doesn't feel like death's waiting room. It's been quite the process. I now know all sorts of things about wound care, the various stages of dementia, veterans benefits, state benefits, state employee benefits, and the differences between nursing homes, assisted living, and secured facilities. It's complicated. Confusing. Maddening.

But then today I learned that my grandfather was in WWII. I never knew that. How is it that I've never known that he was in Germany playing a role in such an important part of world history? There is so much to learn about this man that I barely know. And perhaps getting a glimpse into the life of this wandering man is what has motivated my dad to be present. It certainly has inspired me. I'm just sad that it's so late in the game and that I likely won't ever have an opportunity hear it from his own lips.