One fall day when I was getting some ice cream in the kitchen, cookie dough of course, I turned to look at my grandfather, a man who was a devoted family man of 7 who raised 7 children, exemplified the Marine Corps in every way (including actually being born on the Marine Corps birthday), and lived on Diet Pepsi and breath mints.

He looked at me quite peculiarly, a look I had never seen from my papa. The look was indescribable as if he had never seen me in my life, confusion was stroked all over his eyebrows. Yet this look gave me the feeling that he loved me deeply and would do just about anything for me. Perhaps, papa's years of smoking cigarettes and bouts of skin cancer had caught up to him. No, of course not, Papa is too strong.

At the time denial sealed my brain from thinking anything could ever happen to my papa. "It was merely impossible", I exclaimed as these horribly sickening thoughts shot ammo right through my heart. Eventually, I could no longer fight off these thoughts and a moment in time came where I understood my fudge brownie loving, cantaloupe eating grandfather Richard Connly, as some may have known him but just "Papa" to me, may have been slowly fading away.

I could not wrap my head around the fact that the man who helped raise me, taught me life's greatest lessons, and cooked my favorite egg sandwich on the beach better than anyone in the whole world could do not recognize me. Papa, it's me! I know I am not your little girl who stepped on your toes as you walked around the dining table, but it's still me!

My young innocent heart wanted to believe that it was just because his princess had grown up, but my mind knew the disease was beginning to take over. A thought I always had in the back of my mind but I never thought he would actually lose to it.

My grandfather was the definition of strength, nothing could ever affect him, he served triple bypass surgery at the age of 58 after smoking 40 cigarettes a day. He was indestructible. He was my superman and one of the greatest man I've ever known.

My papa was around 5'6, 150 pounds, a head full of elegant white hair whom I only thought Saints could truly get was a light in my life. He showed me grace, courage, the stark difference between a Diet Coke and a Diet Pepsi, and most importantly love. He saw me as something I wished I saw myself as.

He was devoted to his faith, exemplified the Marine Corps and was never seen without a Diet Pepsi. The waiter would say "Is Coke Okay", my papa would just say "I will have water instead", as Coke was nothing like Pepsi. The taste couldn't be more different and those who say they taste the same must have never known my papa.

I grew up waking up to the smell of my grandmothers famous banana bread in the oven and the observing the deep admiration my grandfather shared for his "bride", that being the beautiful Patricia Connly whom he met at age 17. Back in the 1940s, he went to see her at the local ice cream shop every day until she finally noticed him and gave him a chance.

She required some convincing as he was the complete rebel who needed to do some changing if he wanted to go after my grandmother. Her father was extremely protective, and some convincing would be needed in order for him to let go of his daughter. 61 years later, 7 children, and 14 grandchildren later, my grandfather has exceeded any expectations she may have had.

I say that with even half the love that they share I would be happy.

My grandmother ensures that although my grandfather has lost just about everything that represented who he once was, he will not lose his dignity. He is dressed to the nines every day, with tailored khakis, polo shirts, and a smile. You would never know he suffers from dementia from the outside.

He is the same man I remember from my whole childhood until he opens his mouth or displays a confused look. Any time he is unsure of what is going on, he calls to my grandmother. In a world of confusion, he still sees her as the beautiful bride he met many moons ago. She is his safety net in a dark world. She assures him that everything is okay and that he will be okay. He truly looks at her as something angelic.

She is so utterly perfect to him that nothing could destroy his view on her. He no longer remembers who I am, whom any of his children are, but he remembers her. I never truly believed in soulmates until I reflect on the story of my grandparents. I always thought you could have many soulmates but most of the time they would not work out or the timing would be off.

I believe in true love because of them, my grandmother is even more in love with him the sicker he gets and she has devoted her life to him. In many ways,

I believe that once my grandfather loses his battle with dementia, whenever this may come. We are truly unsure as his physical condition is intact, his mind has just faded away, my grandmother's heart will go with him. I am not sure she will want to see a world without him.

In Conclusion, I am thankful for the print my grandfather has left on my heart. I will be forever grateful for the person I got to know, and who held my hand my whole way through life. As I have come to realize, this disease has taken over but in no way will I allow this disease to defy whom my grandfather was. He was not a disease nor will the disease have really won. I will hold him in my heart until the day I die.