I would like to introduce the world to someone who is very important to me. His name is William “Bill” Abbey, and he is my grandfather. He graduated from Penn State in 1959, served in the Vietnam War, and became an ROTC teacher in North Carolina. The problem is, he doesn’t remember the details of his experiences.

My grandfather suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, which attacks the brain and usually causes victims to struggle to remember even the simplest of details. Some of the effects can include forgetting the people around them, their relationships, and just trivial parts of their day-to-day life. It is not only debilitating for the victim, but it affects their loved ones as well.

My grandfather has dealt with Alzheimer’s for a while, and it’s hard to say when his symptoms began. But when the symptoms became notable, my dad and I tried to extract as many stories as possible so we could commit them to memory. There is a lot that stand out to me, but I want to share one that I found extremely interesting.

It was 1958, the year before my grandfather graduated from Penn State. He and a few of his friends were out at a bar in State College. I don’t know which bar it was, or if it still exists, but he was there with his friends when a group of women walked in. Four women walked in, including the woman who would become my grandmother.

The men and women mixed and mingled and eventually split off into couples. At the end of the night, four couples left that bar. Three of those couples ended up getting married. If you think about the odds and how likely that is to happen, it would shock you. Three-quarters of those couples had long-lasting marriages, and if it weren’t for that meet-up, I wouldn’t be here today.

Another story he loved to tell was that of his adventures with his fraternity, Delta Tau Delta. He and his brothers entered a lot of contests when they were at Penn State. One contest was collecting as many Marlboro cigar containers as possible. They filled up an entire room with them, having to swim through the boxes just to navigate the room.

It was unclear whether or not they won that competition, but they did win a separate competition. The competition itself was unknown, but the reward was a truckload of Fig Newtons. For the rest of his adult life, my grandfather has never been able to eat another Fig Newton again.

Another fraternity story he liked to tell was his homemade alcohol. He would buy apple cider from local farmers and then let it ferment to make it alcoholic. He would then pour it into a container and put it out on his window sill overnight. Because of the Penn State tundra, the water in the container would freeze and the alcohol would not. Throwing out the ice would actually make the alcohol stronger, perfect for those late 50s football tailgates.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that a lot of these stories could be lost to history. It’s hard to have a conversation with him now because of how little he remembers of the basic things, and it is hard to trust if what he says today about his past is even true. But that just makes me more grateful for the stories and moments I got to share with him.

From the jar of pennies he always gave me for Christmas, to his 6 a.m. beach walks to collect seashells, to his stories about flying helicopters in Vietnam, to his goal to establish bluebird boxes in North Carolina, and so much more, I will forever have stories that I will cherish and be able to tell my children. The fact that we will share being a Penn State graduate means even more.

Alzheimer’s breaks down the people you love. It takes away the light that your loved ones had and turns them into shells of themselves. It makes interacting with them extremely difficult, but you still love them.

I will always love my grandfather and the stories he has shared with me. So spend time with your grandparents, learn about their memories and their actions, write down what they say or record it, and then be happy you got to be apart of their story. You never know when that story will come to an end.