It takes one to know one.

My grandfather is depressed. There's pretty much no denying it at this point.

While in Iowa I not only got to witness this firsthand, but hear the stories from relatives. They had no idea that it was what they were describing, but let's just pull out that old cliche: it takes one to know one.

This isn't the first time this has happened. My grandmother died 4 days after my 3rd birthday, and according to everyone in Oregon who watched my grandfather over the following years, he wasted away. He physically wasted away as he stopped eating and mentally wasted away as he stopped doing anything except working. My grandpa admits to losing 20 pounds during a brief period after my grandmother's death, but beyond that he has never really admitted to how painful losing her really was for him.

The neighbours commented to both my mother and I (after we moved in) that my grandpa seemed more lively, fitter, active, and finally happy again. He seemed like the guy that moved in there in 1976, not the guy that found the walls surrounding him constant reminders of pain and sadness. I remember our next door neighbour specifically saying to me "Emily, you've really saved his life."

That's why watching my grandpa only walk one block a day out to the newspaper stand in the mornings, seeing him nap six hours in the middle of the day in his chair, and have him telling me that he doesn't even like watching TV or eating much anymore was so hard for the past week. What was worse was hearing his family tell me it's the most active and happy they've seen him in a year. I know what that feels like and he is the last person on Earth I would wish this on. I wanted to say something about it, bring it up, but he was born in 1931 and I was born in 1984. He manages to move ahead with the winds of social progress and change relatively well for a guy of his age and background, but I know he would never admit to it, let alone seek any kind of help. The closest we'll ever get to that was when at a dinner party at Brian's family's house he said "moving back to Iowa was the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life." At the time I thought that statement had a lot to do with his sister.

His nephew was trying to get me away from his sister to talk to me, but she managed to find a way to stop that from happening. But when his nephew heard I was applying for MFA programs for the next school year he asked me which ones, and then repeated several times that it would probably be best if I could attend a school "off the west coast, closer to all of us" (meaning grandpa). He flat out even said "I think it would really make your grandpa happy if you got into one of those Minneapolis schools."

This whole situation makes me feel really fucking guilty on two levels:

1) I feel like he actually misses me and I feel like shit that I kinda broke up the family by moving to Canada, and giving him that perfect out to return to Iowa. I feel like shit that the only thing that seems to make him happy right now is trying to make me happy, and in turn it makes him feel like shit.

2) I wasn't able to see this early enough, and even managed to convince myself from May of last year until February of this year that he could move on if he had to. In turn I did a bunch of stupid selfish shit and now feel like hell because I could have put him through mountains more of pain.

I really feel self-centered I mean something to him, thinking that my absence causes feelings of sadness or loss for him. I think to an extent it does but it took me the whole 6 days there to figure out what else he's lost.

The last night I was there he fell asleep in his recliner watching The Colbert Report with me. I had kept him up late the night before watching bullriding and talking about travel until after midnight, and that day his niece, nephew, and their significant others crowded into the livingroom and we visited for hours. He was tired and worn out because compared to his recent schedule of napping and staring at the wall in the pitch black dark, this day was long and strenous.

He woke up at the end of the show, sat up and looked straight at me with a big smile on his face while his hands shook. He then turned to the end table between us and started picking up objects, scattering them around. I asked him what he was doing and he handed me a flyer that had flown off the table in his frenzy and asked me what it was. An ad, junk mail, I told him. I've been used to him finding random pieces of paper he's dropped and unable to read thanks to his poor eyes now. Then he picked up his magnifying glass he uses for reading sometimes and said "and this?" I stopped and wondered was this some kind of game? It reminded me of something you do with a kid that's learning to talk, holding up objects and asking them to recall them. I answered "it's your magnifying glass". He held it to his eye with a big smile on his face and looked at me through it.

Then he grabbed a coaster and held it up towards me. "And this?"

I was stunned and I didn't really try to hide it at first. "What? It's your coaster, Grandpa." He held it closer to my face. "How come you didn't eat all your dinner? Did you get all that you need?" he said holding the coaster out in front of me like a plate.

I tried to collect myself and not crumble while being very assertive. "Grandpa, that's your coaster. I have no idea why you are asking me about dinner. That was five hours ago. That's just your coaster. Do you know what that is?" The smile on his face disapeared and he looked at me very intently, and with worry. There was a brief moment of fear and understanding we exchanged between us with just our eyes.

"You've been napping for awhile now, are you still dreaming? Are you awake now?" I said.
"I know I was sleeping. I was tired."
"Yeah, so am I. Maybe we should both go to bed."
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

After walking him to his room and shutting his bedroom door for him, I walked into his sister's room and collapsed and curled up on the floor at the realization that finally came to me.

He's in pain because he's lost himself.