My grandpa turned 90 years old this week. It seems impossible that my grandpa can be that old.
To celebrate grandpa's birthday, my dad drove home last week. My dad lives out here in a nearby town. It's quite a drive to his hometown. I even gave him grief for driving so far for such a short weekend. But, now that I look at the pictures of him with his sister, brother, sister-in-law, and his dad, I only wish I had gone too.
I love my grandpa. I don't call him anymore, nor do I write. Dementia is taking its toll. Physically, he's quite healthy. Mentally, it's anyone's guess whether he'll know who I am. Last time I was visiting, I drove him home. He was quite frustrated with me as he was sure I was lost. I wasn't. He was delivered safely home, but it was stressful for him. It makes me so sad. I am, however, so grateful that my aunt and uncles live near grandpa and spend so much time taking care of him. I know my dad is too.