Helen G. Scott Prize for Creative Writing in Nonfiction
An excerpt from
“Forever(6 letters)”
Towards the end of his life my grandfather’s dementia made it impossible for him to do nearly anything without help. My father devoted nearly all his time to taking care of his dad, including helping him take showers. My grandfather didn’t seem to remember how to do that anymore. I’d hear my father, exasperated and worn, over the sound of gushing, flowing water, going over all the steps of showering, giving instructions like one would to an infant. Reminding his dad how to dispense the shampoo, where it goes, rub it into your hair, yes, your hair pa, wait pa, where are you going, don’t go to the toilet you still haven’t rinsed the shampoo, you need to rinse the shampoo. THE SHAMPOO.
Later that night my father sighed, “If I ever get like that, if you see me even start to get like that, pull the plug for me.” My mother would get angry and teary-eyed, begging him not to talk about such things. I knew that both of them were full of fear. One feared death while the other feared living like death had already come.