I left college to care for Grandpa, trading lectures and textbooks for late nights and hard choices. As I stood on the old porch of our family home, I traced my fingers along the chipped railing—something Grandpa had always meant to fix. Life, it seemed, had fast-forwarded, and time was no longer something either of us had in abundance.
Inside, the scent of old books, coffee, and pine cleaner greeted me—comforting in its familiarity. From the back room came his voice, softer than I remembered. “That you, kiddo?”
“It’s me, Grandpa,” I said, stepping in with my duffel bag. He looked thinner than he had on our last video call, but the spark in his eyes was still there.
“Don’t just stand there—give your old man a hug,” he said with a grin. I embraced him gently, careful not to disturb him too much. “I’m not made of glass,” he joked, patting my back.
Over the next few days, I adjusted to life as his caregiver. I managed his medications, made meals, and tried to keep the house in order. He had always been my rock, especially after I lost my parents. Now, it was my turn to be strong for him.
When his nurse warned me of a sudden decline in his condition, I came home right away. “Dropped out of school just for me, huh?” he teased when I walked in. “Told you to stay in school.”
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