Guest Post by Stephanie March
Even as we sit here, the battle continues. The evil enemy keeps spreading and threatens
to consume everything. The best defense
system in the world cannot stop the current onslaught of devastation. I am completely helpless against this silent
monster that is attacking my territory.
I can no longer claim ignorance of a war that had always seemed so far
away.
This time the threat is real and this time it is
personal. There are no guns or tanks to
be afraid of, only the name of the invisible terrorist from which there is no
escape- Alzheimer’s.
The shock of seeing my Grandfather in this role as a
prisoner of war has rendered me speechless.
He sits before me in his favorite chair that he’s had for as far back as
my memory will stretch. The large
recliner now overwhelms his body that has shrunk during his captivity.
Seemingly overnight, this man that now sits before
me has replaced the statuesque man that used to tower over me. The only
evidence of his contagious smile can be found within the deep lines framing his
now solemn face. The twinkle in his eyes
is now hidden beneath a distant stare that promises to travel farther and farther
away from the home in which he has lived, loved, and lost.
My Grandmother’s voice drifts into the living room
from the kitchen where she is preparing a dinner that includes my Grandfather’s
favorite deviled eggs. I hear her softly
singing “Amazing Grace” over the banging
of pans and pots. “I once was lost but
now am found, was blind but now I seeee…” drifts into the room and hangs in the
air like an omen.
Through it all- his memory loss, erratic mood
swings, and eventual diapers - my Grandmother’s faith has not faltered.
The love and care she has provided for him
throughout his illness should be commended with nothing less than a Purple
Heart medal, like the one my Grandfather earned during his military career. I don’t know how she does it. As Assistant Professor of Nursing at Bradley University, Cynthia M. Steinwedel
eloquently states “Family caregivers are thrust into an ever-deepening,
demanding role of caring for a spouse or parent who gradually becomes
increasingly distant and yet dependent, unreachable and yet intrusive, lost and
yet still present”. And yet, despite
it all, my Grandma faces losing the man she loves with a courage and strength
that I can never begin to comprehend.
My Grandfather’s dog Pepper, bounds into the room
and jumps up on Grandfather’s blanket-covered lap. As though a secret switch had been flipped,
his face instantly lights up with love and amusement. I never thought I would see the day when my
strict and tidy Grandmother would allow an animal in her house. But she does it for him and for how it helps him
cope.
He runs his paper-like hands over her silky black
and brown body. Pepper sticks her tongue
out and gives him a great big canine smile.
This 2-year-old loyal furry companion gives him a reason to get out of
the bed every day. After sniffing the
air for hints of a turkey coming out of the oven Pepper runs hurriedly back
into the kitchen. My Grandfather’s face
returns to its sleepy existence.
My chest aches with the desire to turn the mystery
switch back on and bring him back to life.
Blinking back tears, my gaze shifts out the window and onto the
expansive green lawn and perfectly trimmed trees. When I was a little girl he would sit me on
his knee as we rode on his tractor mower around that very yard.
After my Grandfather removed the blades for safety we
would journey around the lawn like we were headed somewhere far away. My cousins and brother sat behind us in the
bright red wagon that my Grandfather carefully anchored to the tractor.
Since those days long gone, one of my cousins passed
away in a tragic car accident. My
Grandparents were devastated by his death and could not believe that his time
had come before their own. And now, my
Grandfather prepares to be reunited with his Grandson.
As the
afternoon sky turns shades of orange and pink, the room begins to darken. The corners of my mouth turn up as I remember
coming to visit when I was a little girl.
Much to my chagrin, my Grandmother would force me to eat healthy
vegetables and drink endless glasses of milk.
But there were these precious occasions when my Grandfather would tell
her he was taking me to eat a healthy lunch at the nearby cafeteria. Instead, we would end up sharing a big greasy
pizza and guzzling sodas. My Grandfather
would look across the table at me and wink… it was our little secret.
I know that now he doesn’t remember those moments
and so I remember them for him. I will
carry them with me. The memory loss of
Alzheimer’s is difficult to witness. The
slow destruction of buildings that took a lifetime to build. But there are still memories being made. Small moments of laughter.
The air conditioner kicks on and he gives a little
shiver. I get up and tuck his red and
black wool checkered blanket around him tighter. He likes to be wrapped up like a warm burrito
and telling him this makes him laugh. A
good hearty laugh, his laugh. I see that
familiar twinkle for a moment and it is this twinkle I will remember.
As I kiss him on the forehead I regret all the times
I was too busy to visit, too self-involved to ask about his life, and too blind
to the fact that he would not always be here in his favorite chair. I struggle now to block the forming picture
in my mind of his empty chair beside my Grandmother and her endless stack of
crossword puzzles.
He will only disappear deeper into the vast unknown
of the foreign terrain. I wish I had a
map to find him and bring him back.
I tiptoe out
of the living room and walk outside into the cold dwindling sunshine. The wind blows lightly through the trees and
swirls my long dark hair around my face.
The grass needs to be cut and my Grandfather’s old tractor sits
collecting dust in the garage waiting for the man I used to know and the little
girl I used to be.
A warm sensation spreads over my entire body as I
glance up at the evening sky. He might
not always be here in his favorite chair, but I know where I can find him. He will be where the grass is always green
and where there are no more battles to be fought. It is there that I will find him, riding
through the clouds on a shiny new tractor with my cousin bouncing on his knee.
July 1920 - November 2003
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