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STAYING BY HIS SIDE

14 Oct

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Just for Preteens

Staying by His Side

By Marc S. Kruza

A grandfather is someone with silver in his hair and gold in his heart.
~Author Unknown

We all have a best friend when we’re young. The friend you remember when you think of playing video games, walking through the mall, and staying up late, doing nothing in particular.

For me, that companion was my grandpa.

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The little bit of gray in his full head of hair was the only clue that he was over seventy years old. When he climbed on the roof to fix our TV antenna, it was my dad who almost had a heart attack. Grandpa was a man who spent his time doing what he wanted to do, and that included a lot of road trips with me. From Cape Canaveral to Disney World to Space Camp, Grandpa drove everywhere, and we did everything. As any kid would, I took it for granted that all of our days would be filled with action-packed amusement — until one of them wasn’t.

One time when I had a day off from school, Grandpa drove me to Busch Gardens in Tampa. We were immediately focused on the main attractions, so we hopped on the gondola skyride and a few roller coasters. We checked out the dolphin show, and stopped for lunch… a few times. I had a hot dog, a pizza slice, a slushie… and a funnel cake. Finally, we stopped at the Marrakesh Theater to investigate a slide show about animals. I was eleven — I wanted to see action, ride roller coasters, get splashed by dolphins, and dry off while I rode another roller coaster. If I wanted to watch a slide show, I’d have asked my dad to show me pictures of Christmas, 1975.

To make it worse, the theater was warm. Very warm. The air conditioner wasn’t really working, but after walking all morning, it was nice to sit and watch. There was a freeze-frame of a Tanzanian sunrise. A freeze-frame of a gorilla family. A freeze-frame of a lioness pouncing on a gazelle. That reminded me: I was hungry again. Then I heard a sliding sound from my left and was brought out of the virtual safari back into reality. The man in the seat next to me had slumped over, slid out of his seat and collapsed on the floor. It took a second for this to register. This was a day full of fun and games and roller coasters and funnel cakes. Grandpa’s collapsing on the floor wasn’t part of the script.

I heard murmuring and gasps. Everything became a terrifying blur. The paramedics came and put Grandpa in a wheelchair. His eyes were open. “Grandpa? Grandpa?” I said. He didn’t answer. I followed the wheelchair to a golf cart with a big red cross on it. The paramedics let me sit next to him in the back. He looked at me and said one word that made the terror subside: “Marc?” Just then, it was the only word he could say, but it was enough.

Then, we went for a ride most people don’t experience in Busch Gardens or Disney World — or anywhere else. We drove through the employees-only back roads of the park. I held Grandpa’s hand the whole time, but my eyes were mostly on the road during the golf-cart safari. I knew we wouldn’t see any lions, hippos or giraffes on this safari, though. We stopped at the infirmary. Grandpa was talking a little as I helped the paramedics get him into a wheelchair. Inside, they took his pulse and blood pressure and listened to his heart with a stethoscope. He finally started talking in full sentences: “It was so hot in there,” he said. “I remember feeling dizzy and having trouble breathing. Then it was like I just fell asleep. Next thing I remember is seeing my grandson when you were helping me onto the golf cart.”

“How do you feel now, Grandpa?” I felt a little awkward talking with him like that in front of all the medical people, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Much better, but I’m a little dizzy,” he replied.

“Lie down on one of the infirmary beds for a few minutes, Mr. Kruza,” the nurse said. “We’ll check your vitals again soon. They’re fine, we just want to make sure they stay that way.”

“Is he okay?” I asked.

“Yes, son. He just needs to rest.”

“Isn’t the arcade close by? Can I go over there for a little while?” It never occurred to me that it wasn’t the best time to ask.

“It is,” the nurse affirmed with a knowing smile.

“Marc,” Grandpa interjected in a weak voice, “Please stay right here. It won’t be long.” His face looked as desperate as his voice sounded.

“Okay,” I said. I felt guilty for wanting to leave, but I hadn’t thought there was anything I could do by staying. Suddenly, I wanted to help, and that meant staying with Grandpa. It didn’t seem like much to ask. I could stay in the one place he wanted me to be after all the times he had gone anywhere and everywhere to please me.

So began the best thing I ever did for my grandpa. The next ninety minutes were a marathon of pacing, since I was a nervous kid even under normal circumstances. I stared at Grandpa, the ceiling, the floor, Grandpa again, then the ceiling again. After the nurse checked on him a few more times, he asked if he was okay to drive.

“As long as you can walk, it’s okay.”

“Marc,” Grandpa said, “I really want to go home. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. The nurse had Grandpa walk around the room a few times. We crowded into the golf cart, and the safari went all the way to Grandpa’s car. I repeatedly asked how he felt on the way home, and he repeatedly thanked me for being there for him.

Seeing Grandpa’s vulnerability slowed me down long enough to grow up a little bit. Before that trip, I thought that our adventures would last forever. But I realized that staying by my grandpa’s side that day didn’t cost me my innocence — it helped me gain a true best friend.

Reprinted by permission of Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC (c) 2010. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.

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Posted by on October 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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