My Grandfather

Last Monday, July 10th, my grandfather fell at his class at the Kollel (91 years old and still goes to the class everyday, B"H). The people there picked him up and sat him in a chair, and that's the worst thing you can do. You don't know if anything is broken, so you don't move the person. Oh well. That's over and done with. Anyway, Zaide kept complaining that he was in a lot of pain, and if my grandfather complains of pain, he's in pain. Amazingly, he has a high tolerance. They called an ambulance and took him to the hospital. Turned out, he broke his pelvis in three different places, and for a break like that for someone his age, there's nothing they can do. So, he's been in the hospital for the past eight days. He'll need physical therapy, but they'll be lucky if he agrees to do fifteen minutes of it. However, they are getting him to move around a bit. Last week, they had him sitting up in a chair for about three hours. He'll heal, but it'll take time.

My mom, aunt and uncle were so worried about him. I could tell by the way they looked. They didn't say anything, other than "He'll be fine" (which he will be), but I saw it on their faces. I couldn't help but wonder if they were thinking the same thing I was, if they were thinking about my grandmother and the last time she went into the hospital. You see, she never came out.

September 11, (yes, THE September 11) she was rushed to the hospital, but I don't even remember what for anymore. After that, she just gave up, on everything. She wouldn't eat, drink, talk, nothing. A month later, she was gone. She slowly disintegrated, of her own will. And I kept wondering if my family was thinking the same thing about my grandfather. I wondered if they thought he would give up too. But that's not my grandfather. He's a fighter. He'll pull through this, and before we know it, he'll be back at his Kollel class.