My grandmother is in the hospital.
She is elderly and frail and her body has begun to succumb to her age.
It is hard to think she is fading a bit each day but so much harder to see it through the eyes of her son, my dad.
I hear it in his voice when we talk, the tug of sadness in his words.
When we hang up the phone I am always left wishing I could do more.
But no matter what I do, the situation is still the same and I can’t lessen his growing sadness.
We drove down to visit yesterday. Leery of parading my noisy troops through the hospital, we met my dad in the lobby.
As he stepped off the elevator, the kids let loose from my grip and shouts of “Papa!” echoed from the walls.
My dad’s grandchildren ran to him with arms wide open, crossing the length of the hospital lobby, shouting his name.
I watched him bend down and brace himself as his arms filled with my babies.
They hugged him tighter, longer than usual, as the smile came back into his eyes.
He turned towards the open hallway, happier than I had seen him in days,
hanging on to all I have to give.
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