I deflected the blow with a quick wrist but nothing could mend the stab to my heart. This wasn’t my Grandma that I’d loved and cherished for over forty years. I started sobbing as my mom came over to embrace me. I said, “Mom, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did.”
“Baby,” Mom said, “you didn’t do anything. You just haven’t been here. You haven’t seen how bad she’s gotten.”
“I .. just…..” I stammered through tears, “.. want .. to . leave.”
“Honey,” Mom said, “She’s not the same since the dementia started. “It just keeps getting worse. We’re leaving soon. You just stay out here by the car and calm down. And stop crying sugar. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
On the twenty minute ride home, I replayed the episode over and over. I thought of her frequent complaints that her oldest son, and his son, (her grandson) were always yelling at her like a child and stealing her belongings to throw them away, could possibly not be the whole truth. In fact, my cousin being a confirmed bachelor had moved into her spare bedroom to help take care of her several years before.
I had spent the last eleven years living out of state over a thousand miles away with my daughter and husband and my last visit had been 4 years before. My Mom had relayed Grandma’s progressive loss of memory (particularly short term) during our phone chats, but I had no idea how serious and rapidly her condition was spiraling down. After my divorced in 2011, I moved back to be near my family.
My parents and uncle are in charge of managing Grandma’s daily affairs. There was no way to avoid Grandma’s dementia. It had become a part of my life. Although I had a little experience with dementia, I didn’t realize that dementia can present differently depending on the person.
My Great-Uncle had dementia for many years and it was of a very rapid progression. When I saw him on the last family visit, it broke my heart. His dementia seemed to have trapped this sweet 80 year old man’s body with the mind of a 4 year old. He had difficulty communicating, but when he did it was with a sweetness and innocence to what he said. I’ll never forget the struggling frustration in his eyes as he searched his mind for the exact words. But no matter how long the right string of words just wouldn’t come remaining elusive and just beyond his reach. Angry outbursts were very rare and usually at home directed at his wife. Unfortunately, we lost this wonderful man in November of 2011.
Grandma came to visit after the book throwing incident. It was obvious that Mom had mentioned what she did. Grandma settled on the couch and said, “Come here, darling. I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes were red and tiny tears tipped over the bottom lid begin maneuvering the ever slow luge-like tracks of her wrinkled face. “What’s wrong Grandma?”
“I know I hurt your feelings. But I can’t for the life of me remember what I did.”
“Grandma,” I said as I wrapped her tiny, skeleton-like hand in mine, “That’s completely in the past. I forgive you.”
Grandma continued speaking through silent tears and said. “I love you so much. You are the last person I’d ever want to hurt.”
“It’s OK, Grandma. I love you.”
I thought back to a day when Grandma screamed at the top of her voice and swung her cane at my mother. Were all these incidents all caused be the dementia, or could it be frustration with her limitations? Either way it’s the family members who must adjust.
I decided then and there that the cause didn’t matter. This was not the Grandma I’d known and loved my whole life. All I could do was love her as she was at this moment. Only God knew how much longer we would have her with us. On a daily basis it was the family that must be flexible and adjust because the disease has taken away the ability to change and/or understand. Dementia, no matter what kind or how mild or severe, it is indeed a body snatcher.
I leaned over and lightly kissed her tear stained cheek and embraced her fragile frame. “Grandma, I love you and you love me. That’s all that matters at the end of the day.”
Five years later, her refusal to cooperate with us about eating and hygiene among other things made dealing with Grandma's tantrums extremely difficult. One day a few months ago, she was staying with us for the weekend because her grandson had to go out of town. Every day, several times a day she would complain that she wanted to go home. We tried to explain that she was incapable of staying alone and she would then pout and refuse to speak to us. I admit on a couple of occasions, I lost my temper and would yell and explain and do everything short of shaking sense into her. I felt bad that I lost my cool but when I apologized to her, she had no memory of what I was talking about.
Grandma died just a few weeks before her 95th birthday. She was survived by two sons: my father, and my his older brother. Their younger brother passed away 11 years before. Unfortunately, truth be told some of the family descended like vultures on Grandma's house immediately after the post funeral dinner thrown by the ladies of my Grandma's church. My dad told them that no-one was going through her house that day. We decided everyone could come and stake their claim on any furniture, pictures, and bric-a-brac (which Grandma had in the form of porcelain birds) the following Saturday. She probably had a couple hundred birds on shelves through out the house. There were some sentimental things but nothing of incredible value.
So the following Saturday was the set clean up day. I didn't go for two reasons. One, I was still recovering from a hospital stay and Grandma's house had no air conditioning. Second, I find it distasteful to go through my Grandma's things and bring home things I had no room to display. My dad went to oversee the clean up and took my daughter with him.
When they got home, my daughter told me, "Mom I know you said you didn't want anything, but I brought this bird for you in case you change your mind."
I started to cry because it was a red bird, which were Grandma's favorite birds. Every time all my life if I saw a red bird I'd think of Grandma and then I'd make a wish. The old wives tale is that if you make your wish before he flies away it will come true. I put the little red bird on a shelf by my bed. I'm so thankful that my daughter didn't listen to me but rather knew once my grief had subsided a bit I might regret not having something to remember Grandma.
I loved my Grandma, and I'll always miss her. She lived a long healthy life nearly 95 years. She led a good life and I know she's finally reunited with my Grandpa who died almost 50 years before her; I hope she knew how much I loved her. I find myself talking to her whenever I see her bird. I'll always cherish that one red bird.
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