Alzheimer's is a cloud. It is an illness that robs someone of their memories and can even rob them of their own personality. It is a veil. Before you stands the person you have known for 70 years. Before you stands your best friend, but there is a fog between you.
I know what it is like to watch the progress of this condition, but I can only imagine how it is for the spouse.
Some days, soups is declared the favorite. Some days, just as adamantly, "I have never liked soup." Some days the trees are beatiful and provide shade and security and a wind break to the property. Some days all of the trees must be removed.
Some days are giggly, some are overwhelmingly irritable.
I cannot imagine how it feels to be in my 80's and knowing that all of my younger siblings are gone. I cannot imagine putting things in the same place in my home for 60 years only to be confused by where things are. "Who could have taken them?"
Yesterday, I was told, "I have never seen that before in my life." (The item had been in the same cupboard in the house for 40 years.)
At the same time, I have learned more about this person's childhood in the last five years than in the last 40. She has talked vividly about childhood memories, illnesses and situations that I doubt she had even thought about since her children were very young.
She hangs up on some family members because she no longer recognizes their voice when they call.
Alzheimer's is allowing me to see who she was as a child. It is giving me a window into her past. She has marvelous stories and experiences to share.
It is as if her life was written down in order, and is being erased in reverse. It is amazing to see the light and vivid ways she describes her teen years. It is painful when the cloud of realization washes across her face when she thinks of calling one of her sisters.
I know that as this continues to progress, things will continue to change.
It is almost as if it is similar to the way scientists describe a dying star. Just at the end, there is an intense brightness, a flash of amazing energy and light.
She is experiencing her memories so intensly. Thirty years ago, she would have told, me, "I don't know exactly, I'll have to ask my sisters." Now it is as if she is watching a movie of her life. She knows exactly how she did things, when she did them, where she did them and who she did them with as a child.
The fog of her childhood is being erased.
She is my grandmother. I have already accepted that soon, she may not know who I am.
I have even told my mother that she will lose the ability to remember who her grandchildren are, and may eventually not recognize her children. I said it out loud as much to remind myself as to inform my mother of the progression.
Even as the cloud moves through her life, even as the confusion increases, I would much rather spend my time with her, listening to her, talking to her and warming her hands when she is chilled.
My grandfather has told each of us that human touch is more soothing, healing and helpful than any medication. He has reminded all of us to touch her hands, give her more hugs and sit beside her instead of across from her. He has read a lot about her condition. He is aware. He knows what he faces.
There was a conversation between two family members about increasing the level of her care. My grandparents are two adults with rights, so no matter what we believe should happen, or would want to happen, what is important is what they want.
I forced myself to ask the unimaginable of my grandfather. I knew what I wanted for them both. I knew what I believed would be best, but no matter what, it was not my decision.
So I talked to him, "A couple of people are concerned about you. Are you feeling overwhelmed by this situation? Do you need to consider another path?"
His answer was filled with love, grace and relief for me.
"No, we knew this was coming. Sometimes it is hard. Sometimes she is annoyed with me, but I think it is best for us to stay right here, in our home. I don't think she will do well at all if we move her."
He loves her so much. Even when she is irritated with him. Even when she is not quite herself at all. He loves her.
My heart breaks and is filled as I watch him standing next to his best friend of 70 years. This cloud of Alzheimer's occasionally creates an enormous wall between them. Inexplicably, her frustration and annoyance seem to be focused at him.
I don't know how often he is seeing her moments of clarity and brightness. Yesterday, she was up and active and doing something rather bizarre, yet not harmful. I looked to him to see if I should redirect her, or just let things go. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
She was up, active and was certain that it was time to dig up her garden and plant her summer veggies. It is September.
I smiled back at him and watched as she then picked up the pruning shears and began lopping branches off of a pecan tree, heavy with nuts.
We have lines in the sand. What she is doing is not hurting herself or anyone else. A lot of pecan loaded branches were taken to the trash by my daughter who also just smiled.
However oddly inspired yesterday was, it was good to see her with a burst of energy and enthusiasm, so we simply helped her prepare for spring.
It's no so different from this illness. Yes, it is getting closer to the cold bitter days of the winter of her life, but Alzheimer's has sort of reversed the timeline a bit, so for now, we are helping her to enjoy her spring.
She is precious. She is amazing. She is becoming pure light.
No comments:
Post a Comment