GOOGLE OR GRANDPA?

               Whenever I need answers, information, or input, I have two reliable sources on which I can depend: Google, that little bar on the top left of my computer screen, or grandpa, the easy going, common sense expert who has lived and learned for over 70 years.  

            I have to admit that when I need information, I often choose Google, especially when I need information for a school paper or other project. It’s faster, and often more easily accessible.

            Yet some internet sources are not always correct. Websites give us the cold hard facts. In essence, there is something missing from the treasure trove of information we know as the internet, something real and personal; an element that can only come from someone who has been there.

One experience that opened my eyes to this was a phone conversation I had with my grandpa a few years ago. I was driving home for Christmas break, relying on my GPS to lead me there because I am rather poor with directions. As we were talking, I told my grandpa where I was based on the signs that were coming up. With just those few details, road signs and various things I drove past, he was able to tell me exactly where I was, what signs I should see next, and how much time it would take to get there. It was like he was seeing it all in his head from hundreds of miles away.

I was amazed. I had known my grandpa was good with directions, but I didn’t realize how good. This discovery changed my perspective and helped me value him even more. “Who needs a Tom-Tom when you have Grandpa?” I asked myself.

M grandpa is not a walking, talking road atlas. Nor did he sit and memorize all these mile markers and road signs. He learned his way around by driving a semi for over half of his life. He knows all the roads, towns, and signposts in the area because he navigated them every week, five days a week for over forty years.

            Personal experience: that, in my conclusion, is the missing element. Web sites can give us information, but they can’t tell us how they gained this information or what they learned along the way.

            All of us younger folks, including me, catch ourselves occasionally thinking that older people are out of touch with the times. We think that we know better than they do in some areas because we are more technologically advanced, more street smart, and more stylish.

Yet, if we stop to think about it, our grandpas and grandmas are, in a sense, pieces of living history. They lived back in the days when folks had to wash clothes by hand and plant and

harvest crops the old fashioned way. They were there during World War II, the Kennedy assassination, and so much more. I think we would all be amazed by how much we could learn by taking a notebook and a pencil and asking Grandpa what the world was like when he was growing up.

            Yes, search engines are helpful. Web sites give us a wealth of information. But, as my experiences with both Cyberspace and senior citizens has taught me, while Google is probably not disappearing from our lives anytime soon, Grandpa’s time is running out.

           

The Mission of a Caregiver

“All right, Miss Dorothy, let's go to the bathroom. Walk toward that light.”

I held my arm firmly under hers and guided her and her walker toward the bathroom. Later, I

guided her to the table for lunch. I am still learning to do this, with help from those who have been

doing it longer, but I am getting there.

I give Miss Dorothy her plate, and she talks to me in broken words as she eats. Sometimes I

can understand, sometimes I can't. Mom comes over and asks Miss Dorothy who I am. “J-Jessica,” she

replies. I ask Miss Dorothy who Mom is, and she can't remember. Strange, considering the fact that I

have been working here for a few months and mom has for three years. Mom says Miss Dorothy likes

me. Miss Dorothy's memory comes and goes, but she always has a smile. And she loves her husband,

Jim Mack.

A week later, after trying to get up by herself twice, narrowly avoiding a fall, Miss Dorothy is

finally convinced to settle back down in her chair. “Do you want your baby?” My co-worker, Martha,

asks. She picks up a baby doll wrapped in a pink blanket.

“Ooh, a b-baby! I wish I h-had one.” Miss Dorothy croons.

“Well, this is your baby.”

Miss Dorothy takes the doll with tenderness, and I can almost see tears in her eyes as she she

lifts it to her breast. “Oh, my baby.”

I almost start crying myself as I watch hints of memory cross over her face. In her mind, is she

holding Kenneth or Homer Dee, giving them a bottle or nursing them through a cold? She holds the

doll for several moments, then is ready to rest again.

As I take care of Miss Dorothy, I am constantly reminded that even though her mind is not

what it used to be, she is precious and to be treated with dignity. Even though her years of working

hard and raising her babies are over, she has her memories. They may be locked up somewhere in her

mind due to her Alzheimer’s, but they are there. Being a caregiver is not only a job, it is fulfilling a

mission to help safeguard these people in their sunset years, to treat them with respect even when they

have to be taught the same things over and over again, to hold their hand when they are weak, and once

in a while, when possible, to help them remember.