An Unfinished Poem found on my Laptop

I never finished this. I like it though.
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I make the drive home.
Alone.
Trying to pay attention to the road,
to the music on the radio.
Dismissing the ache behind my eyes,
the emptiness in my heart,
the tingling urgency in my body.

I arrive ahead of schedule.
The dimly lit room reeks of cancer and piss.
My strong stable grandfather
Sits slumped in an old creaky wheel chair
with his bloated arm on a pillow.
His mouth mindlessly hangs open.
His eyes half shut and staring nowhere in particular.
I say hello and he says my name.
He knows me. He is happy to see me.
He gives me that little hello wink
I have grown accustomed to over the years.
He knows who I am and knows the relationship we have.
I smile at him.

His blank stare indicates his mind has again wondered somewhere.
In to the past,
into unconsciousness?
His mumblings sometimes indicate where he is.
He told us to make sure that taxi driver gets out of there.
We say yes and make no motion to fix anything.
He doesn't know where he is anymore.
He asks my mother where *she* is staying.
She tells him she's staying at home.
And he responds with a simple oh
and returns to his wide mouthed, droopy eyed stare into oblivion.
Something bothers him and he fidgits with his blankets
with the pillow under his arm,
with the rag in front of him.
He asks my mother what the button attached to his smock is for.
He doesn't know where he is.

I know where I am.
I'm at the nursing home where his mother,
my great-grandmother, lived the last years of her life
after Alzheimers at 80.
Ten years later, she died in this very nursing home.
Eight years later, we are back again.
The nurse says she knows my mothers face.
She explains.
Uncomfortable eyes shift to the floor,
and we are shushed to the hallway.
They must put my grandpa to bed
and change his cancer-soaked dressings.
The room again fills with the odor.

Once in bed,
my grandfather immediately falls asleep.
It is one of those wide-mouthed snoring sleeps.
He mumbles and twitches, but is essentially asleep.
His face bears the grimace of pain,
I pray he feels nothing.
He shouldn't have pain.
He's lived 78 full years.
He has spent the last 10 years golfing
bowling,
dancing,
enjoying himself to the fullest.
Who would think that what he loved most in life,
spending time outdoors with friends on the golf course,
would be his demise.
The sunshine...
The cancer...