My Grandpa Haskin died of colon cancer when I was very young. Towards the end of his illness he stayed at our house and my mother acted as his hospice nurse until he passed. I don't remember much of Grandpa, and the memories I have are scattered and piecemeal. But I do remember this bell.
Because he was unable to leave his bed, we gave him this bell to use whenever he needed anything. I remember him ringing it a lot. I'm sure he didn't ring it that often, but the ringing stands out most in my memory. Probably because I loved to run to his room and help him when I would hear it. He would have me do simple things like turn his TV on or change the channel, or fetch my mom for the more complicated things. I doubt he would have asked me to do much more since I was only 5 or 6.
I can't remember what Grandpa looked like, or any one conversation I had with him, but I do remember how I loved to help him in my silly way. I loved to tell him all about whatever was going on in my head and I felt like he really cared. I'm not sure that is true since I can't rely on my scant memories, as disjointed as they are, but whatever he was like I can be sure of one thing: I loved my grandpa and I felt loved by him. I feel lucky in this knowledge since I had so little time with him. And really, I don't think I could ask for more.
When I leave this world, I hope that I can leave my mark in the same way: by making sure my family knows how much I love them.
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