My grandfather, who I knew as Nonno and who's real name was Boris, was Croatian and was my Mum's Dad. He didn't like the Croatian work for 'grandfather' so he adopted the Italian version after spending some time there after escaping communist Croatia. When he came to Australia his trade became that of a builder and he worked on some of the greater structures in Victoria and Canberra. One building he helped build was the Monash Hospital. It was probably this occupation that brought on his sick and twisted death.
My favourite memories are of him and I doing jigsaw puzzles and going to the park that was just up up the street from their house. I liked to go on the swing and he pushed me. It took ages to complete the puzzles but they were always fun and satisfactory. Of course it changed as I got older, I didn't visit as much, we didn't do as many puzzles and we didn't really go to the park. Looking back on that now I'm sorry I didn't visit more, because I was ten when it all went down hill and I guess you could say I kind of feel like I was robbed. And I got totally ripped off as a far as grandfathers go. Grandpa Peter died when I was seven from bowel cancer and the hardest part of that was two years later medicine advanced to the point where he could have been saved. And my Nonno was disappearing as I turned ten. What kind of world is this?
Nonno started to forget things very gradually. At first people didn't really notice but in the space of just four years he was gone. I didn't understand for most of that four years what was happening so most of it went straight over my head. Mum and my grandmother (who we call Baba) knew and something I heard later was the time he forgot who Baba was. I don't think I'll ever hear anything that horrible, in that sense, ever again in my life (and I certainly hope that this remains the case). He forgot his own wife and that was very confronting.
He was diagnosed with Alzeihmers and Dementia. The type of dementia he had was Lewy Body Dementia and it was probably the worst one. He spent his last year and a bit in and out of hospital and in an awful nursing home. The nurses at the hospital always said he was young for a dementia patient, in his late 70's as this all unfolded. I only visited him once in hospital. It was July 2007. Mum says now that they should have let him die in that July when he was rushed to hospital with pneumonia. He died for a small amount of time and, I think, she is right because surely those eight extra months weren't worth it. I visited him a short time after this and it was so confronting I never went back. He was attached to an oxygen machine and his voice was different and people had to feed him because he'd forgotten he had to eat. I never went back after that. The last time I saw him alive was at the nursing home. I didn't know this at the time, but he didn't know me.
Mum told me much later he told the nurses he was proud of his grandchildren. He was always telling the nurses about us and as much as it makes me smile it also makes me sad.
He returned to the hospital that final time after the nursing home failed to feed him, simply leaving the food in his room, which he promptly never ate. He lived out his final weeks in the Repat facility, which I hear is a truly awful place.
The day he died I wasn't sure I believed it. Dad had to leave us at Nonno's friends house so he could take Baba to say goodbye - Mum was already there. Baba didn't make it in time to see him alive. Mum didn't come home til late that night and I attended my weekly art class like it never happened. It was Friday the 7th of March 2008.
I nearly didn't got to his funeral because I thought it would be too hard, but I went in the again. I did not attend the actual burial. I visit his grave at least once a year and I still feel sad and cry when I sit there and think about everything.
I wouldn't talk to anyone about it and I still won't and even as I'm writing this I'm crying. But I felt like it was necessary because it needed to be said, written down.
I still think it unfair that I lost him so soon. I still think it unfair that we didn't finish more puzzles or go to the park more and I'm sorry, so so sorry, he'll not be there when I graduate high school.
What kind of world is the on we live in? We have cancer, tumours, dementia, alzheimers, poverty, famine, war, AIDS and so much more. I'm currently questioning my faith. People turn to God in situations like this and all I can do is think 'why?'.
My only solace is he never knew what was happening.
My only solace is he never knew what was happening.
I wish you all a long and happy life
- CG
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