16616 comments into this thread (as i started writing, in a throwaway account, but decided to use my primary after), no one will ever see this, and i m happy and sad at the same time.

well, my father had an uncle. Jacob. my grandfather died before i was born, so Jacob was the closest thing to my grandfather. we weren't close, at all, but knowing him meant something.

last time i heard him was at his brother's memorial in 2008. he was speaking clearly, i just joined the IDF (please, the anti-israel/republican brigade, don't downvote me just for that), and i was there in my uniform. near the tombstone he said this and that, but i remember clearly how he said that both of them fought in Israel's independence war, and were hoping that their off-springs wouldn't serve in an army and/or know what war is. it was the most beautiful thing ive ever heard.

he was somewhat old. 80 maybe. he had a knee replacement, and he broke his hip or something. so he had a nurse, and his wife didn't help much, and his kids weren't giving him attention really, so he drifted off. they examined him, declared he suffered from dementia and Alzheimer's. he was unresponsive, so they transferred him to this home for the elderly. i never had good relationship with my father, but one time he asks me to come visit Jacob there. i wasn't close to him, but the no army thing he said, made me want to come. so there we were. people around us in wheelchairs, with all kind of things attached to them, some old woman cries in the corner "where am i? whats going on here?".

they wheeled him to us. his eyes were barely opened. he was pale, skinny, his posture in the chair looked like it wasn't comfort in any way. he didn't talk. didn't make a sound. didn't even moved, not even a bit. my drunk (not at that moment) and idiot father talked to him in a weird way, loud, and mocked him and the other old people there, i sat them feeling like SAP and facepalmed a lot.

my father had enough, time to go.

i asked my father and brother to leave me alone with him. there, in the loby, i took his hand in my hand, got close to him and got into his line of sight and said something in hebrew:

"יעקב, זה רועי, הנכד של אברהם אחיך זכרונו לברכה. אני לא יודע מה קרה לך, איך הגעת למוסד הזה, ואני מצטער שאתה במצב הזה. באמת קשה לי לראות אותך ככה. אבל שמעתי אותך רק לפני כמה חודשים באזכרה, היית צלול ובהיר ונהיר, ואמרת דברי טעם. אני מסתכל עלייך ועל אברהם ורואה את הסיבה שאני התגייסתי. אתה נציג של דור שהולך ונעלם. והאומנות שאתה עושה, והמילים שאתה אומר, הן לא כאלה של חולה אלצהיימר ושטיון. אני מבין שהיו לך קשיים, ואני מבין שאתה מדוכא, ואתה לכוד בגוף שלך, בכאבים, והילדים שלך לא באים לבקר, וגם אשתך לא כאן, אבל אני יודע שאתה שם עמוק בפנים. אני יודע שאתה שומע אותי. אני לא נוירולוג, אבל אני יודע שבנאדם, זקן וחולה ככל שיהיה, לא יכול להגיע מצלילות מוחלטת לשטיון מוחלט בתוך חצי שנה. יעקב, אתה שם, בבקשה תושיט יד כדי שנוכל למשוך אותך החוצה"
TL:DONT KNOW HEBREW: Jacob, i know you're there. help me save you!
his grip was getting stronger in my speech, and during that speech i took out of my wallet little pamphlets which had the moral code of the IDF, and some bible verses. i told him about the brotherhood, and my commitment to him. after i got my hand out of his grip, i looked, and he had single tear traveling down his cheek. i hugged him, kissed him, and went to my father, told him we can go.

my father decided to check on Jacob once again. he was excited but catatonic, so he wasn't responsive. i thought i broke through his shell. then the nurse came, and asked him how he feels, and my father, still in shock, told me that Jacob turned his head, looked at her, and shouted (as much as he could): "what is this, a preschool? am i being tested?!?!".

the visiting hours were over, so i didn't get to see him (and quite frankly, after my speech i didn't feel like it anyway), but i asked my father all kind of questions, the phone numbers of his daughters, when was he diagnosed, by who... decided i would rescue him. i never did. was going on through rough times of my own. he died few months after.

i could've saved him. i really could. i didn't. it hunts me.