I had never before realized the connection between lives and how the things that happen to one person can so dramatically affect the lives of those with whom they are close.

I heard him repeating “she was so beautiful” as if they were the last words known to man. His aimless wandering matched the lost look in his eyes as he travelled back to the car after the funeral. I had never known my Grandfather that well, but I knew him well enough to understand how much my Grandmother had meant to him. He sat in the car as if everything had lost its value.

It had been a long uphill battle of two years. A condemning mixture of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases had been the cause. My Grandfather fought the battle with her every step of the way. Even through the days where he, the beloved husband of 63 years, was just another nameless, unknown face, sat by her side hoping for a miracle.

Several years ago, my Grandmother’s memory had begun to deteriorate as she started to forget small things in the course of her daily routine. My whole family had not thought much of this, as we figured it was an effect of her age. Though, as time passed, her condition continued to worsen at a more accelerated pace. My Grandfather soon felt the burden of having to care for her and employed a part-time nurse service. Though this was a tremendous help at the beginning, her ever-declining condition made him come to the painful realization that he could not provide the type of help she needed at their apartment. The only option left was a nursing home.

The nursing home provided great care, but as the months wore on, she was confined to a wheelchair and lapsed into a completely incoherent state in which all ability to communicate vanished. Despite this setback, my Grandfather spent hours upon hours with her each day spending time talking to her and holding her hand as he watched her slip away.

When we received the call that she had passed away, it was no huge surprise as her condition indicated that the time was coming. To my Grandfather though, it was as if the world had ended. After her death, he lost all interest in the things he used to love and was inconsolable. He sat in his empty Florida apartment watching the paint peel from the walls. Friends, family and neighbors came over to try to rouse his interest, but their efforts were in vain. Nothing they did or said made a difference.

From the day she died, his relatively good health began to degenerate. Her death and the enveloping loneliness took a serious toll on his mind and body. Within a half of a year from her death his physical and mental conditions got to the point where he too required the same part-time nursing service he had set up for his wife just a year prior. By this time, he was in and out of the hospital several times until finally the doctors deemed him incapable of returning home. The process of finding him a nursing home landed on the shoulders of my father and my uncle. While these arrangements were being made, he died in the hospital.

After my Grandmother’s death, he was never the same. It was as if part of him died along with her. He was left empty. The woman he had spent 63 years with was no longer there. He was left re-living the vivid memories she left behind over and over again. In the end, he had died of a broken heart. After his death, he had once again found solace resting in peace next to the one he loved so dearly; my Nana.