Forget me not

My Granddad is one of the few great men I've know in the entirety of my life. He eats his desert before his dinner, he has his own personal speaker from the TV to his "throne". He is the man of the house and I love him dearly.

Last year he was diagnosed with Alzheimers.
I don't think we all understand how much of a terrifying disease it is. Tonight at dinner, my mother's Japanese friend told us about his mother's struggle with it. It was horrible listening to how at his fathers funeral, he was comforting his mother who in turn looked up at him and asked where her son was. Or how he talks with her only to have her whisper to her sister "Who's this strange man, talking to a Grandma like me?"
He told us about how she would eat dinner, then when she forgot she'd eaten, ask for more. They'd leave her and come back and the bowls would all be empty. What she'd really been doing with that second serving was throwing it into her cupboard, which became rotten and smelt horrid. They even forget basic manners and etiquette. They forget how to get from A to B even though it's the most familiar street in town. They forget everything.

It breaks my heart to think of the day, when I approach my Granddad and he asks who I am or doesn't remember my face. To have some one who means so much to me not know who I am is excruciating. He's looked at this face over a million times, we've shared over a million conversations and he'll remember not a single one.
And the scariest part is that he himself won't know what's going on. His brain slowly destroying itself, blissfully unaware of the damage it is causing.
Eating dinner and then ten minutes later asking for dinner. Conversations that sound like broken records. And there's nothing good waiting at the end; it's just a slow, painful descent into death. And we have to sit around and watch him deteriorate. Just watch and be patient and understanding as he forgets us all and passes away.

Part of me doesn't even want to go back to Japan, so I won't have to live through this hurt. But I know that more than anything I'll regret not saying goodbye. To cherish what memory he does have left and make the best of it. And even now, I'm sitting here, holding back the tears, and I'm thousands of miles away from him. We all die, but it's hard to accept it. Really hard.