Growing up, I had a very normal relationship with my grandfather or as I called him, Papa. I would see him and my grandma every few weeks and of course at all of the holiday family gatherings.
But in 2005, the Christmas Eve celebration was far from normal. The warmth and hustle to prepare for that night’s festivities froze solid within seconds. My mom’s face was anguished and my dad’s streaked with tears as they spoke to me softly. Papa was in the hospital.
Papa had had a severe stroke. He was paralyzed and couldn’t speak. At 9 years old, when I was just beginning to shape and use my own voice effectively, my only grandfather lost his.
I was terrified. Terrified that all that remained of Papa was an empty shell…something that used to be. How would I connect and communicate with him if he couldn’t utter a single word in return? I would never be able to have normal outings with my grandfather again. I would never be able to hear his warm voice tell me tales of his youth. No more sage advice, no more wise warnings, no more “I love you’s”. My mind swirled, feverishly trying to conjure up the last things he said to me. But it didn’t matter anymore. I thought he had lost all means of expression, and I had lost him.
But that Christmas Eve at the hospital, he squeezed my hand. With that small action, I knew he was still there. He was trapped inside a largely immobile body – but he still reached me. He hadn’t given up.
Papa has been paralyzed in half of his body for almost 9 years now. Instead of becoming eternally discouraged or depressed, he has maintained a sense of humor and a heart that overflows with warmth. With patience, diligence and devotion, Papa and I have developed an alternative way to converse using hand signals, gestures and facial expressions.
At one time, I thought I wouldn’t be able to have a normal relationship with my grandfather. In fact, I was right. My relationship with Papa is now anything but normal. Rather, it has exploded with compassion and continues to grow stronger with each passing year. The advice I thought I would never receive has come in abundance. His smiles tell me to keep my head up even when the world seems to be against me. His laugh reminds me not to take life too seriously. The tears he shed on my high school graduation day push me to make him proud. He is the light in my life, guiding me every step of the way.
Papa has spoken to me in ways that no configuration of words ever could. I believe you don’t need a voice to speak to others.
Adair Fleming is a freshman at Penn State University Park. She is originally from Virginia and is looking forward to spending the holidays with her grandfather.
