REMEMBER that classic fast food-chain commercial that touched the hearts of many Filipinos? The one where the granddaughter kept insisting to her lolo that she’s not Gina, but Karen? Then, her grandfather took out the hamburger, sliced it into half, and said, “Para sa paborito kong apo, si Karen.” A smile suddenly lit up her face.
I really can’t remember how and when it started because I became used to it after a number of years. At the start, the family members living in the house with my grandfather, Pedro B. Furigay, would just laugh at it. He would often confuse my youngest sister to her youngest daughter. We thought it was fine, just like in the commercial: That old age comes with memory loss.
Most of the happy memories I had with my grandfather happened during merienda. I would sit in our living room, pretend to do my homework, and wait for him to wake up from his siesta, because I know he would come up to me to buy some snacks. Not just for him, but for his two sons’ families. It usually ranges from 10 people to 12 people, depending on who were not out for work or for school. Of course, I would have to choose what that one dozen people would eat. Big responsibility, maybe, for then 13-year-old me. Sometimes, it would be hamburgers, turons or banana cues at the corner. Sometimes, he would give me a P1,000 bill to buy hotdog sandwiches or siopao at 7-Eleven. Our snacks were not complete without the drinks, so I would leave the food first on our table, and rush to the sari-sari store next to our house. I was usually accompanied by a cousin my age. It was fun.
And then the exciting part. I would see my grandfather preparing two glasses for him and his younger brother, and I would carry two pieces of whatever I decided to buy, together with the one 750-milliliter bottle of cola. I would reach for my pocket and give him the change. Just like what I always did, I would pretend to leave, and before I could go out his door, he would say, “O, sa iyo na ito”, and he would give me the P20 bills and change I just returned to him. I would split it up with my cousin and we would do “jack-and-poy” if there was an extra peso. That completed the afternoon every single day.
During family gatherings for the past years, the game would be my relatives asking him if he could recall them. I knew he could recognize their faces, but not their names. When his youngest daughter visited from the US, he couldn’t remember her name either. He couldn’t even utter a single word. He just nodded and smiled.
Another problem is he is almost deaf, so you would always need to talk to him through hand gestures. That makes it even harder.
My lolo is turning 88 years old this year, and he still lives in a house next to ours. He and my lola worked before at the US Naval Academy when he was about 60 years old and petitioned most of his children, before returning to the Philippines for his retirement. He is a big fan of boxing and he also loves to watch cockfights. He had a lot of roosters before in our backyard, and he would bathe them and feed them before the sun sets.
I barely see him now. Twice a week is the most I could to visit him. I could hear his occasional shouting when he has a heartburn or he’s having a hard time digesting his food. My mom would always check on him and bathe him. She would go inside his house to see if there is pee or dirt on the floor, if he put the spoon and fork or his trash inside the toilet bowl, or if he removed his diapers again. I could only hear stories from her.
One or two years ago, he disappeared. We were in a panic looking for him. He was nowhere in his house and we looked everywhere and asked the neighbors if they saw him. Fortunately, my older brother found him sitting inside the church which is no more than 50 meters away from our house. There were times he would dress up, thinking it was a Sunday, and he would go to church just like he always does. He even forced open the church gate so he could get inside.
I could not remember when it started. He was not diagnosed, but all the symptoms, said my brother who is a nurse, indicate Lolo has Alzheimer’s disease. It is “an irreversible, progressive brain disorder that slowly destroys memory and thinking skills, and eventually the ability to carry out the simplest tasks,” the National Institute on Aging in the US said.
I did notice the changes, big and small, and I could tell that it’s on its severe stage right now. He couldn’t do and remember all the things he used to do before. His behavior and thinking changed a lot that he is very dependent on other people now in almost everything. At the beginning, it was just names and dates he forgets, but now, he is not even aware of what he is doing to the point that he couldn’t do basic tasks aside from eating on his own. And I know is it will get worse as days, months and years go by.
For the past months, I hardly hear him speak and he’s already having difficulty walking and balancing himself. There are times when he would want to go out, but I had to lead him back to his house because he thinks differently now, almost like a child, and I’m afraid he might slip or fall.
The last happy memory I remember I had with him happened maybe two or three months ago. My mom was busy with the chores, and my dad told me to bring Lolo his snack for that day. He was sitting on the couch and I left his food on the table in front of him, pointing at it so he could see. To my surprise, he said “Thank you”. Not that he hasn’t said it before, but it’s been so long that I cannot even remember when he last talked to me.
Just like that girl in the commercial, a smile suddenly lit up my face. If there’s one thing he would not forget, I think it’s being grateful to the ones who care for him and love him.