Grandpa's Stories

Sometimes, when the weather didn't permit for me to play outside and my cousins weren't around, my grandfather would sit down in his worn blue recliner, to tell me stories. There were stripes in the fabric. And it rocked, back and forth.
He would tell me many stories, some about his business as a wholesale banana deliever, his days in the army or his family. They always had two things-wisdom and humor. He would joke so much in his stories my grandmother, who was currently dusting would stop just to shake her head and put her own two cents in.She was always interupting.
As the years from childhood turned in to adolescence, my grandfather got older as well. But until my junior year in high school, he would still go on telling me the stories, except due to dementia they would be shorter and more and more confusing. Nonetheless, we would still like to hear them. We knew his days were numbered, although I always thought there was a way that we can reverse the hands of time, although he began to not be able to walk or take care of himself.
Then one day, he entered the home, this time, unlike the others, he would never return home.
His stories ceased-but I always thought that they would be back again.
Dementia took the stories and the story teller a year later, on a crisp October day.
Now, his stories are like on dvr in my mind-when I want to hear them, when its not too hard for me to think about. I think about them, they be comforting me, when I miss him the most. I wonder if one day, I can tell the stories to my children. Or write a book. One or the other.