A Random Dream

My grandfather has been suffering dementia for over two decades. He’s in his mid-90s now, and as of this writing he’s still alive.

I haven’t visited him in years, but I’ve heard him described as a shell of his former self. I imagine a frail husk of a person, withered and weak, wizened and pale, moving here and there but not fully aware, wheelchair bound and incapable of much else besides weak breaths.

I had a dream the other night that I visited my grandfather. Before the visit my family members warned me: “You’re going to be shocked and horrified by his appearance. The person in that nursing room is not your grandfather. He won’t know you or remember you.” My grandmother, who is now dead, was also in the dream, warning me that the encounter would be a painful experience.

I opened the door to my grandpa’s nursing room and was greeted by a version of my grandpa that existed 30 years ago. He was mentally sharp, still possessing color in his hair, and he stood up on his own two legs. He joked with me and shook my hand. Behind me, my family was silent.

It seemed he had hoodwinked everyone, I thought, like Willy Wonka’s introduction in that old 70’s film!

“Don’t be fooled, he might look okay right now, but he’s in terrible shape and has no mind left,” someone whispered to me, convinced that what we just witnessed was only a momentary flash of acuity.

“Don’t listen to them!” My grandpa declared. “I’m fine, see?” And he shimmied a dance move, grinned, laughed, and took a sip of scotch from a nearby glass. “What a joke I pulled on everyone, huh!?”

Baffled, I proudly shouted, “See, he’s fine! He’s in even better shape than all of us!”

I woke up and thought about death, how grueling it is. Like a leech devours blood, age will drain someone of their identity slowly, over many years. If we live long enough, we will inevitably watch someone close to us die horribly.

I often suspect there is no soul or afterlife. Our minds contain our full identities and ability for self consciousness. Our concept of ourselves is therefore as fleeting as a shooting star, a flash in a sky filled with glittering lights that’s gone and easily forgotten. Blink and you’ll miss it. With the passing of the mind, a vessel remains with lungs that expand and contract, and a heart that weakly pumps blood through arteries. It is still something organic, like a tree, but tragically little more.

Identity is therefore fleeting, so it’s important to have a strong grasp of it while I can. It’s a valuable commodity for any person, more precious than any metal or money, because without it we are not fully alive. There’s no rule on how long self consciousness can last, but it tends to be shorter than one wants.