Puzon 1

Gabbie Puzon
Professor Kufs
English 115
30 September 2016
The Meaning Behind Grandpas Smile
"Could money buy you happiness? Most deny it. However, ask a different question "Would a
little more money make you a little happier?" and many will smirk and nod yes." (Myers 15)
There is a certain bliss that lies in not knowing anything.
Back then, when I didn't have to worry about the clutches of the "adult world", I
contentedly basked in my childhood. My only priorities were waking up early enough to go to
school, or trying to finish my homework before the sun set. Technically, we were middle-class,
but I was comfortable enough to never want for more. There was a roof over my head, food on
the table, and a bed to sleep on my life was at ease. In my ignorant bliss, I never noticed the
slight break in my grandpa's wrinkled, old smile.
Grandpa was essentially the father-figure in my life. During the days when Dad would
never come home, Grandpa would be there, beckoning me over with a humble laugh. He'd be the
one to tirelessly drive me to school every day and pick me up afterwards. Being the chef that he
was, he made the best fish fillet; I'd find myself eagerly anticipating dinner every night.
Sometimes, he acted as both my mother and father. The same arms that fixed my bedroom door
also fixed my old stuffed bunny. I was so blithely happy that I thought Grandpa would always be
there; surely, there was nothing that could separate us.
Of course, I was dead wrong. Grandpa's visits became less and less frequent. I could hear
Mom's hushed sobs on the phone at night whenever she'd talk to Grandma. In the beginning, no
one would tell me why. The once-lighthearted aura in my house grew heavier with tension each

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passing day, and I was dying with grim anticipation. Eventually, I did learn the truth. But now
that I look back, I wish I never did.
Grandpa had prostate cancer.
Our lifestyle had to go through a massive change at the revelation. We had to move in
with Grandpa to be within his proximity and take care of him more efficiently. To be honest, I
was excited at the thought of living with him; I thought wed be able to relive the old days again.
Grandpa and Grandma shared a room in our little bungalow, while Mom, my sister, and I shared
another room. Surprisingly, things were pleasant at first. Grandpa was a cooperative patient
he religiously followed his regimen and medication without complaint. If I ignored the ominous
catheter attached to his belt or the unusually healthy food on the table, everything was seemingly
normal. Grandpa acted as jovially as he usually did; he would still crack a joke or two at the
dinner table while my sister and I tried our hardest not to choke on our laughter. Though he
couldnt cook for us or take us to school anymore, I didnt complain in the grand scheme of
things, a minor inconvenience was a small price to pay. As long as he was happy, I innocently
believed things would turn out fine.
But, like always, my childish naivet betrayed me at the worst possible time.
One day, after a checkup at the doctors, Mom and Grandma sat at the table with grim
expressions. At first, I thought I was in for a heavy scolding, but their faces didnt hold the look
of severe admonition; they looked like the entire world rested on their delicate shoulders. Mom
was the one to finally drop the proverbial bomb. According to the doctor, Grandpa had reached
Stage-4 prostate cancer. It took the whole night for them to break the news to us without trying to
break down. No matter how hard all of us tried to make things work, the cancer still caught up
with us in the end, slowly eating at our hope.
Tears were shed and plans were made that night. The following month, we would have to
relocate yet again, this time to my uncles house. He lived closer to the hospital than any of us
did, so Grandma and Mom figured itd be easier for Grandpa that way. I tried to be hopeful about

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the whole thing, but seeing Grandpa getting frailer each day was starting to take a toll on my
optimism.
When we got to my uncles house, our previous lifestyle change was tame compared to
the whirlwind that arrived. Because of the limited space in his residence, we all had to share a
room. I wasnt allowed to invite friends over anymore, nor could I go out as often as I used to.
We all had to use one car to save on transportation costs; we needed the money to pay for
Grandpas maintenance medicine. More often than not, wed be cramped together in the backseat
just to go out of the house. On nights when my Grandpa was at the hospital, I could hear Mom,
Grandma, and my uncle arguing at the dinner table. Words like debt, withdrawal, and
loans were being tossed around angrily between them, and all I could do was sit and listen
helplessly. Grandpa, who always tried to keep smiling, would have a look of utter guilt on his
face whenever hospital bills were brought up. Money became such a minefield in the household
that the slightest mention of the forbidden word made sparks fly.
There would be days Id sit idly at home, watching everyone fret over Grandpa while I
contemplated my utter powerlessness at the situation. I remember a night I went to the kitchen to
get a glass of water and saw my uncle robotically arranging Grandpas weekly pills into a
container. He was the most cynical one in the family by far, and Id often see his eyebrows
furrow at the sight of Grandpas bedridden body and an almost-drained bank account. During the
nights he wasnt methodically bookkeeping the funds or organizing any pills, the TV would be
on, yet hed be staring into space. He was never concerned with the what ifs of our current
situation, but Id like to think that he also dreamt of a life that didnt involve watching his father
slowly die.
Like the traitorous snake it was, Grandpas cancer grew progressively worse as the
months passed. Grandpas doctor, in all his stoic callousness, gave us a three-month mark before
the end. Our once-valiant efforts grew desperate, and we were at a point where something,
anything would suffice. When chemotherapy came into the picture, my family jumped onto the
idea like it was an oasis in the middle of a desert. Papers were immediately filed, and Grandpa

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was set to get the treatment as soon as possible. At the time, chemotherapy was such a deep
and scientific concept that I thought it would magically solve all our problems. I had put so much
faith into the treatment that I didnt even realize its side effects were even worse than I could
ever imagine. The weeks passed by, and I could see Grandpas hair thinning with each
medication. He didnt smile as often as he used to, and there were times he would zone out
completely. Supposedly, Grandpa was getting better, but his appearance betrayed that thought.
He looked like a shell of his former self, and whenever Id hold his hand, Id feel months of
fatalistic pain in his bony fingers.
Somewhere out there, maybe there was another, more complicated-sounding treatment
that costed a couple more zeroes. With all the money flying in and out, it wasnt much of a
stretch for me to think that if were rich, things would be different. We wouldnt have to be
cramped in one house together. We wouldnt have to settle for one, barely-functional car. We
wouldnt have to go out and pretend things were just fine at home. We wouldnt have to leave the
doctors office each week, crying at the discovery of a new complication. We wouldnt have to
wake up one day and realize that Grandpa gave up much earlier than the rest of us.
One day, I managed to get permission from Mom to go trick-or-treating with my best
friend. It was Halloween, and I supposed she felt pity at seeing me cooped up at the house all the
time. Needless to say, the day was a pleasant distraction, and it was nice to forget about the chaos
at home for a while. Things were going great, and my little plastic pumpkin was full to the brim
with candy when Dad suddenly called. He usually never did, so seeing his name flash on my
cellphone felt a little strange, if not foreboding. He said he was on his way to pick me up, and I
honestly grew a bit annoyed at that. It was my first outing in a long time, and he was just going
to interrupt it without explanation. No matter how many times I pestered him, he wouldnt tell
me why. The whole car ride home was filled with my incessant complaining, so to shut me up, he
broke the news to me, point-blank.
Grandpa had passed away.

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Everything after that was a blur. If the house was in chaos before, it was now postapocalyptic. The once-frenzied rush of the paramedics now faded into a lifeless afterimage. No
one cried hysterically, or clutched at Grandpas coffin during the funeral. We were all resignedly
silent, save for the occasional sobs. I knew my family did their best not to show any weakness in
front of Grandpa. He was lying serenely in his coffin, smiling as if he was content with his new
resting place. Deep down, I think we all knew Grandpa accepted his fate long before; we were
the ones who wouldnt accept it.
Five years have passed since then, and I find myself mulling over the past every so often.
The what ifs keep coming back to haunt me. What if things were different? We wouldve had a
bigger house, and my grandpa wouldve been able to rest comfortably. Sharing a car wouldnt be
a problem anymore because wed have another one to use. Wed be able to afford a better
treatment, and maybe Grandpa wouldve lived a little bit longer. Im sure that even he dreamt of
the ideal possibilities at one point. Grandma told me he was trying to hide his feelings of guilt.
She said he felt terrible at being the cause for the familys problems. To him, his cancer wasnt
just a terminal disease it was a slow-acting poison that ate away at our happiness, resources,
and funds. I felt horrible that Grandpa harbored all these feelings without saying a single word.
Thinking back now, the thought of money, or the lack thereof, had engraved itself in my
household during that time. I guess it shouldnt be a surprise to me that Grandpa felt the pressure
of money more than any of us did.
The serene expression he had on his deathbed both mystifies me and weighs on me to this
day. Ill never know if his smile signified satisfaction of a life well-lived, or freedom from a life
of burden.

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Works Cited
Myers, David G. "The Funds, Friends, and Faith of Happy People." Weinstein, Lawrence. Money
Changes Everything. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2014. 15.