Reflections of a restless eccentric

 My dad has been sick for one and a half years now. That amount of time has given me a sense of acceptance of the situation, no matter how horrifying the reality. On my many visits home in this span of time, I saw my Mom look more and more haggard due to the grueling regimen of her clinic, caregiving and household chores. I would despair seeing her, and worry more about her health too. But there was one presence in that house that always gave me some hope. My 93-year-old grandpa. Not that his life had been very pleasant. He had seen his fair share of deaths over the years - a wife, a son, a daughter, a sibling, most of his cousins and peers. He had grieved deeply over these, no doubt. Similarly, he had many many health woes - diabetes and high blood pressure for 40 years, heart problems for 50, cataracts in both eyes, loss of vision and hearing, multiple hospitalizations and surgeries. But there was this zest for life that he embodied that never ceased to dim even after all these ordea