Grand-Papa

"I miss your grandmother" he says.
I look at his old face. His sand-coloured skin has become as thin as a parchment and I can spot the veins beneath it.
"Every time I wake up I still think that she would be here", he continues. "It's difficult when I understand that she is not just gone to make some tea".
"You've been married a very long time", I answer, not knowing what to say. This time he mentioned "your grandmother", which meant that he recognized me as being of his kin. He's been staring at me for a very long time. I can tell his brain is trying to remind him of someone he might have known before. He recognises my cousins because they look like their parents. Unfortunately for him my father and I are very different.
"We've been married sixty years" he replies. He looks at me with interrogative eyes and adds: "How old are you by the way?"
"I am twenty five", I answer.
He thinks very deeply before he proudly declares: "We were married more than twice the time that you've been living".
"It is a long time". I never know what to say to him. Usually I just talk about the same things all over again. He never remembers it anyway. I talk about the weather, I talk about my parents, I have to say who my father is and have to remind him that my father is his son. I came to see him once a week since he entered the hospital and he has no idea of who I am. He wouldn't notice if I stopped visiting. Sometimes I feel as if I was wasting my time, and yet I feel like a horrible person for not seeing him more often.
"How are you feeling today, Grandpa?"
"Old. My knee still hurts and I still can't walk".
"It is normal, you broke your knee a month ago", I answer.
"A month already? Yes, I suppose that at my age bruises don't heal as easily as before".
He thinks deeply again.
"When my knee will be better, I will be going home".
I know he won't, and actually, he knows it as well. He now needs constant medical assistance and my aunts have booked him a room in a senior institution. We all loved the family house, though. I have spent many summer holidays there as a child, playing with him, when he could still walk and laugh and remember my name. My grandfather was a very tall man when he was standing up. I was told that he used to be a handsome, career-driven person, yet very kind and excessively fond of his wife and children. He worked until his brain started to dislike the effects of age, then his memory began to unravel. He remained kind and very fond of everyone who was around him, though.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" I ask, which means that I am offering to push his wheelchair to the garden, and maybe to the park if he is feeling like it.
"No, I am fine", he says. "I don't know this garden".
Time is flying and nothing is being said. I know that in no time I will have to go and leave him to his loneliness. I have talked about every topic I could think of. Weather, family, daily routine stuff; all of it was covered. I eventually have to go.
My father calls me when I leave the hospital. "How is he?" he asks.
I say: "He is good."