Every thursday after school, since year 11, I have gone to visit grandad at Montecillo.
Every visit starts with his gruff greeting: "You again - don't look too pleased. I'm not dead yet."
Grandad is what mum calls "still water that runs deep", meaning that he is not one to show his feelings.
I think mum tells me this to reassure me that he does appreciate my visit.
Perhaps mum is right, because the nurses confide in me how I brighten up his day and that I am "the apple of his eye".
Timing for grandad is important.
I make sure I arrive early so that I can wait, because for grandad, a retired Sergeant Major, punctuality is paramount. He tolerates neither eagerness nor lateness.
Honestly, I've lost count of the number of times grandad has muttered in his staccato voice: "A minute, young lady, could very well be the difference between living or dying."
So I wait outside the residents' lounge for 4.30pm.
Grandad is a creature of habit and careful planning.
He sits in the same mustard armchair underneath a rather gloomy picture of some trawler vessels.
Once I asked him why he never sat in any other seat.
He glared at me as if I had committed a grave act of insubordination and should be court-martialled.
"Planning. I sit here because I have planned to sit here. I sit here to avoid the glare of the late afternoon sun," and he added quite cunningly, "because I can see everything that's going on.
"Remember, kid, a good soldier never turns his back on the enemy."
Grandad is a fighter. I know he was brave as a young man because of all his medals.
Today, even as an old man, his fighting spirit blazes.
For grandad, there is no such thing as a friendly game of dominoes.
Every game is a battle to be fought with a "take no hostages" strategy.
Sometimes in that late afternoon light I can see that there is a battle he cannot win.
The sadness in his eyes, the fragility of his body and awkwardness and obvious pain of any movement are the signs of a body that betrays his spirit.
The clock strikes six, which signals the end of my visit.
With an air of urgency, grandad says, "You need to leave. I've got things to do."
Although he never tells me, I know he will miss me and will be counting the minutes until next Thursday.
NATASHA KUMAR
(Year 12, Columba College)
