Keep your nose to the grindstone

My grandpa has a lot of sayings - the men on my Dad's side of the family are kind of famous for them. But I think one of them will stand out above all others when I look back. He lead an amazing life that I won't go into the details of, but know that he is one of my life heroes. He and grandma have been married 60 years plus or minus. He's a Harvard grad and a war vet, and had an incredibly successful career. A few years ago, grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

If you're familiar with Alzheimer's, you know that basically the brain just atrophies slowly but surely over 5-10 years until you don't know anyone around you, are unable to take care of yourself completely, and end up dying of pneumonia, infection, or something else.

My grandpa was always a rock. He was brilliant. He was always healthy. He always had the answers. He always kept his cool. There was always a solution, always a way. I'd never seen him doubt or worry about anything. But that was before he was faced with an illness that has no answer - no solution - no way to overcome.

Not long after the diagnosis, I talked with him a bit about it. He spoke more candidly than ever before with me and said a few things that I'll always remember.

The first one came as he kind of looked off in the distance and said, "Nate...I've gone 80 years of my life without so much as a ripple... Everyone spends their time in the barrel," and that he guessed this was his time. Later he said, "keep your nose to the grindstone till the grindstone wears down."


Grandpa can't finish most of his sentences any more. He can't finish a thought. He can't convey his feelings. He can't remember what the name of the thing that heats up food is, or most of the names of his children or grandchildren until we say them or he looks them up on the 3x5 card in his pocket. He can't drive anymore. He does remember I'm in medical school usually, and can still tell me that "that's a great opportunity," and that "we've been pretty lucky." I'm sure he remembers grandma every day when he sees her - and he even remembered a few trips we've been on when I talked to him last. But he's trying to stay strong and stay positive.

His health is deteriorating quickly. I saw him a few weeks ago and won't see him again till Christmas. As I hugged him goodbye this most recent time, he told me in an emotional voice that was novel to me, "you take care of yourself" and gave me a hug that was anything but a "see you next time" hug. His arms were shaking, his head was on my shoulder, and it felt like he needed me. Or just needed someone to lean on for a brief moment. His nose must be pretty sore by now.


I guess typing it down has made me realize that he didn't say anything that profound during that one conversation. But to me it was, because I'm in the barrel - but I'm in one because I went in on my own. Other barrels may come my way - I'm sure they will. Health problems, work problems, wayward children... who knows. But they'll come. Those I can't do anything about, but I AM going to do everything possible to not jump in any more on my own. And I'm going to learn and apply everything I possibly can from this trial I'm in now so that whatever barrel I find myself in, I'll be able to face it calmly and confidently with my family and God.

I'm keeping my nose to the grindstone, Grandpa. Hang in there and finish strong. You're grindstone will be worn down soon.