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Riley Smith
Douglas
UWRT 1101
19 September 2016
Some Memories Are Best Left Forgotten

I believe in forgetting so I can remember.

As I was learning to walk on my infant legs for the first time, my grandfather was losing
the ability to use his own. There was a curb, no taller than the average, just outside of a
restaurant where we all celebrated his birthday. It was one small step yet his leg did not waver
from its hoisted position in the air.
It was that very week my grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinsons Disease. The
spread of the disease was a slow progression; his legs growing stiffer as the months drawled by,
his lips no longer puckering around his straw as he tried to take a drink, and no more hectic hand
waving and cheering as the Mets scored a homerun. My grandfather was slowly but surely
becoming a man in shell. Even at my young age, I could see it in his eyes that he knew there was
nothing else he could do but sit, and stare, and hope.
One rainy Sunday morning, after church had let out, I was brought to my grandparents
house, barbie luggage held firmly in my hand. The leaves on the trees were just beginning to fall
and having been from Florida, where the seasons were almost nonexistent, I loved the idea that I
would get to make piles upon piles of leaves to play in. The house was silent upon entering
which was odd. I was always so used to hearing the excited exclamation that I was back.
Sitting in a blue reclining chair was my grandfather. There was something different and at
the age of seven, I had naively assumed he was just tired. I bounded over to him, bag forgotten,

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and found a perfect hole inside his lap to curl into. I said to him, Grandpa, didnt you already
take your nap in church today?, causing my mother to laugh. He was always known for dozing
off during prayer. It was odd, though, when he did not laugh in return. His arms were curled
around me so I knew he was there, but was he really?
I believe in forgetting so I can remember. I remember that there were times when he
would forget that his body was failing him and he would sneak a pint of ice cream for me and
him to share before my grandma would come running at us with her trusty wooden spoon. I
believe there were times, however, as I sat there in his lap, that he felt there was no point in
smiling because it would only bring him pain if he did.
Ive always grown up on the idea that you should Live your life so that at the end of it
youll have no regrets (Yucius 1). For my grandfather, I want to believe he lived with that very
notion held firmly in his mind. Even a body riddled with pancreatic cancer and Parkinsons that
was eating away at his being, my grandfather would keep his head high and always put far too
much chinese mustard on his eggroll to make my brother and I laugh when he would start crying
and coughing. He never once complained, at least not in front of me, and he always found a way
to embrace the suck (Kyle 1).
May 7th, 2009 was the last day I told my grandfather I loved him. Sitting in that same
blue chair of his, my grandfather stared blankly at the television that was shut off. He said no
words, not that I needed him to. I knew what he would have said if his body let him. His lap was
smaller than it used to be but I found my way into it, wrapped my arms around his neck, and said
as simply as I could, I hope you can make it to my birthday party on Tuesday. Ill save a
cupcake for you.

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I believe in forgetting so I can remember. I believe in that moment, as everyone else was
packing his clothes for the hospital, my grandfather forgot his pain, dug himself out of the hell he
was placed into, and smiled. It was the first smile I had seen in three years.
May 10th, 2009- a Sunday. I was called from church group out into the hallway. I dont
remember what time it was, I dont remember what I was wearing, I dont even remember my
student pastor calling my name anymore. Grandpa died, was all my mother had to say.
I have forgotten the rest.
It's always been said, There are times when you cannot control what happens in your
life (Fallon 1). I always knew what that meant but I never fully understood until I was standing
with a rose in my hand, listening to a twenty-one gun salute for my veteran grandfather as his
brittle body was lowered into the Earth. It was one of those moments where I wanted to stand on
my toes and scream to the heavens that it wasnt fair and that I wanted him back.
At the age of eighteen, I realize how silly that was. At my young age, I had not realized
the lesson my grandfathers struggles had taught me. My grandfather was teaching me how to
find the gifts life bestowed upon us. At the end of every storm, there is a rainbow. My
grandfather taught me that pain is needed in life to grow and I have chosen to never forget that
lesson.
I remember how he would grab his walker, happily forgetting the reason he needed it in
the first place, and yell at the top of his lungs, Elva!, when he wanted my grandmother to take
us out for icecream. I remember lying with him late at night, when neither of us wanted to sleep.
He would grab my hand gently, his thumb rubbing over my palm just as my dad still does, and he
would tell me stories. They were never about anything in particular but they were ours and they
were special. They were our stories whispered in the dead of night.

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As I grow older, the memory of my grandfather remains close to my heart. Every lesson
he ever taught me is woven deep into the fibers of my soul and although I may forget the way he
sounded when he talked or the color of his eyes, I will always remember. I will remember the
way his arms always found a way around my body to keep me warm and how he liked bendy
straws more than the straight ones. Mostly, I will always remember the unconditional love that
he had for me. I choose to keep these things in my mind rather than all the hospital visits and the
nights when I wondered if I was going to see him in the morning because I believe in forgetting
so I can remember.

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Works Cited
1. "Live Your Life So That You Will Have No Regrets." Nancy Yucius. N.p., 12 Dec. 2005. Web.
12 Sept. 2016.
2. "Embrace The Suck." Kyle. N.p., 25 May 2007. Web. 12 Sept. 2016.
3. "This I Believe: Using Your Heartache." Fallon. N.p., 24 Sept. 2010. Web. 12 Sept. 2016.