My castle stands upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand
I took up the task at first I admit a little begrudgingly. I hated that it felt like the rest of the family didn't care enough about him so they asked me to take care of him. My grandpa was losing strength and his mind little by little every day and I hated so much to be subjected to seeing it. I didn't want my last memories of him as a deteriorating feeble frail shell of the man he once was.
I hated going into that assisted living center and hearing the sounds of forgotten elderly people crying and bemoaning, the sounds of lost children that would cause me to shudder and wish I could just deafen it out so I could get the task of visiting over. Say I did my part. I walked him, read to him, fed him, brushed his hair and talked to him about his day's as a car-repairman, and how he needed to get up and go to work, even though I never really knew if he understood or even knew who I was. I was one of many grandchildren he had, I was one of the few that passed off as one of his daughters, so I didn't mind if he called me Brenda.
But after a while as the weeks passed and I kept coming back, my qualms lessened as I focused more on him and not his situation.
Today I got careless. Today for the first time I felt his hands and they were WARM. They were so warm like they used to be 5 years ago. I hadn't felt them so warm since he last knew my name. Today I thought this was the turning point in his illness. The warmth was a sign to me things were getting better so after exercising him and reading to him I cut my visit shorter than usual. He had fallen asleep like he usually did and this time I didn't bother to say goodbye because I knew he couldn't hear me, and that I'd see him again next week anyway.
He died 20 minutes ago and I was the last to see him alive.