Zayde

The chair in the corner of the living room was my Zayde’s safe haven. It was a place where he could relax, if relaxing was even an option. Who knew the aftermath of beating lung cancer would be so detrimental? I certainly didn’t at that age. I always saw on TV how good people felt once they beat cancer. And essentially, my grandfather did overcome his lung tumors. I wasn’t aware that the medicine and radiology would take his body to this extent. The extent where he couldn’t move on his own, and where he couldn’t make jokes like he used to.

My grandfather, who I called Zayde, was the funniest person I knew. Also, the most confident. Zayde never failed to make someone smile. The humor he exuded was like no one else. To see him so weak to the point of him losing that glow was causing great sorrow on the family, and especially me.

As my mom moved Zayde to get him more comfortable, I watched him squeeze his eyes as he shifted in his leather seat. I could barely help him physically. The most I could do was hand him his glass of seltzer. I walked out of the living room and strolled into my grandparents’ bedroom. My favorite thing about this room was the enormous closet. Maybe not enormous, but definitely walk in. Bubbe, being the avid tennis player, kept a shelf full of visors. There was a visor with every print, every color, and every texture. I stretched a multi color, floral visor over my red haired bun and looked in the mirror. I had seen Bubbe wear this one. It was a very ‘conducting a tennis match on a hot summer day’ kind of visor. Then, the idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. I should dress up as Bubbe and impersonate her to make Zayde laugh, I thought. Honestly, I didn’t care if he laughed until his stomach hurt; even a small smile with a giggle would do it.

So I went back into their closet and picked another article of clothing that I knew Bubbe enjoyed wearing. It was her brownish-grey soft teddy bear vest. I threw it on and glanced in the mirror. A bit big, but what was I expecting? An 80 year old woman is not the same size as a 12 year old, but it worked. And for my finishing touch, black ‘flatsy patsy’ slippers. Bubbe was reputable for always having slippers on in her condo, and shuffling her feet to each destination.

As I stared at myself in the mirror in my many-hued visor and soft vest, I attempted my Jewish-Brooklyn accent. I knew if I at least nailed one phrase, it would be the icing on the cake. I tried to be as discreet as possible as I seeked my inner Bubbe. All I got down was ‘hello,’ and that was good enough.

I walked out of the master bedroom and shuffled my way to the living room. The first to take notice was my mom, who knew right away what I did. She beamed and looked at Zayde as I entered the room. Even through the pain, his eyes brightened. As my mom and Bubbe tried to shift him in his chair, he continued to analyze for the details in my impression. It felt good to see him distracted and giggle despite his green state. It cracked up everyone when I tried to voice Bubbe, and no, it did not offend her. That’s just how our family works. Humor is what brings us together and gets us through unpredictable times.

That was the last time I saw Zayde. A week after this kind of fun and light-hearted treat, he passed away. I am so happy that the last time I saw him was a good one. My last memory of him is 100% reminiscent of his personality and his legacy.