Fade to Black
She can't remember the last time they met, though it was only three years ago this third of July, a hot, moonless summer night, when she'd spent the final moments holding his hand, alternately speaking to him in hushed tones and singing "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" ever so softly into his ear, her cheek meeting his where it lay on the stiff hospital pillow.
She can tell you how they met, in vivid technicolor detail; about the pouring rain that day some seventy years ago when her big brother brought him to the house, a drowned rat by all appearances. But even so, she couldn't take her eyes off of his; they way they twinkled and danced! Just one look, and before she knew it she was following him down the yellow brick road of his dreams, into happily ever after.
She can't remember the name of the nice lady who fed her lunch yesterday and breakfast this morning; the one who cajoles her into taking "just one more bite"; the one who brings the styrofoam cup of too sweet lemonade to her lips to wash it down; the one who is a mere child herself, but inevitably crows about what a "good girl" she's been to eat so much of the tepid, pureed gruel that passes for a meal these days.
She will ask you, though, about your babies, and even about Ms. Stinky-son, her great grandson's not-so-favorite kindergarten teacher. Did "that woman" ever give him back his truck? she'll ask, recalling an incident long forgotten by the parties involved, a glint in her voice as she stands ready to defend the shaggy haired five year-old with the tear stained face of a decade or more ago, standing in living color before her mind's eye, in its own twisted version of the here and now.
She can't remember why she doesn't see you everyday, or, perhaps more aptly put, that she doesn't. Where has everybody gone? Why is she in this awful god forsaken place? She hates it here, she says, without saying a word, but still, you can read the indictment on her face. She wants to go home. Can't you take her there? Sit on the big flagstone back porch and gaze across the river, have a glass of tea and talk about remember when? The pleading that goes unsaid is enough to break a soul in two, jagged edges still piercing and pinching long after the visit is over.
She won't remember that you've been here, almost as quickly as you go. Tomorrow, today will be just yesterday, those short term memories the first attacked by the cruel, unforgiving scourge that wipes the surface of her mind clean each night.
But you'll remember.
"I have to go, Grandma. I'll be back soon."
Her face turns, seeking yours.
"I love you," you say, nearly choking on the swirl of emotion you feel welling up from the depths of your suddenly fragile heart.
Her cloudy eyes find yours, and lock there in a long, present moment.
"I love you, sweetie," she states with all the authority of the grandmother you've always known. "And don't you ever forget it."
Hello Jennifer,
This is a lovely, bittersweet piece. Those of us who have or have had a family member afflicted with Alzheimer's or dementia can relate. A friend told me about your post and I've referred others to it. Sharing can bring comfort, even in sadness.
Mary Emma
(www.alzheimersnotes.com)
Posted by: Mary Emma Allen | July 02, 2006 at 08:37 PM
I found this post through a Blogging Baby article about the Perfect post Awards. Thank you for reminding me of the strong grandmother I loved and lost two years ago. What a beautiful post.
Posted by: Nancy | June 30, 2006 at 08:40 PM
Wow! So beautifully written! I lost my dad to it last April. I was his caregiver, but had to put him in a nursing home his final months because I wasn't set up at home to care for him properly. This really spoke to me as I've been there, choking on those emotions too. It's hard to go thru it with them, but soon they are at peace and that's what counts the most. Thanks for sharing this :)
Posted by: Carolyn | June 30, 2006 at 01:53 PM
Very poignant entry. I had to place my aunt in a nursing home 8 months ago and I endure the same emotions that you described here every time I visit her.
Was sent to visit from Kenju's blog.
Posted by: Terri | June 30, 2006 at 12:22 PM
Simply breathtaking - thank you for sharing that.
Posted by: Motherhood Uncensored | June 30, 2006 at 11:59 AM
That was so touching. I am getting ready to go to Finland to see my family, and one of the reasons is that both of my grandmothers are getting very old and I want to make sure I see them alive one last time before we move from teh US to New Zealand...... It is already breaking my heart to say goodbye........... Thank you for this.
Posted by: tia | June 30, 2006 at 07:57 AM
Beautiful! And so very touching. It isn't fair, is it? Life...with all it's fragileness and strength.
Posted by: OldOldLady Of The Hills | June 30, 2006 at 04:35 AM
This is beautiful! Heartbreaking, but beautiful...
Posted by: velocibadgergirl | June 28, 2006 at 06:37 PM
That last part made me tear right up. And make me miss my grandmother SO much...she died when I was in 7th grade, so it's been 22 years. This brought back those last few days with her in the hospital. Thank you so much for writing so eloquently!!
Posted by: Lisa | June 28, 2006 at 03:14 PM
Wow....
This scenario scares me to death. Alzheimer's runs rampant on my mother's side of the family and I so fear the day if/when I lose my ability to remember things.
This was beautifully written, Jennifer. Of course, that comes as no surprise to me.
Posted by: RisibleGirl | June 28, 2006 at 02:22 PM
Beautiful.
You have absolute talent with words. I wish you were nearby so we could do a "writing group" together and share insight, editing, and feedback with one another in our writings.
Posted by: Lily Bleu | June 28, 2006 at 10:44 AM
Oh.
I don't know what to say to this. So beautiful, so sad. Heartbreaking and bittersweet, tears in my eyes.
Posted by: anne | June 28, 2006 at 10:22 AM
Jennifer, that meeting was supposed to take place at my poolside! Darn those frogs, they lost the directions to my house.
Thanks for the visit....LOL
Posted by: kenju | June 28, 2006 at 09:46 AM
You broke my heart this morning, my friend.
Posted by: terrilynn | June 28, 2006 at 09:11 AM
My grampa has Alzheimers. I haven't seen him in over a year. I hear stories from my family about how he's rapidly falling apart. I can't bring myself to go see him. It's totally selfish and I feel like a complete schmuck about it...but my reasoning is always "well...he won't even realize that it's me...so why bother?". I just don't want to have my last memories of him be memories of a helpless and senile old man. I'd rather remember him as the strong and funny and always-joking guy that I knew as a child. It makes sense to me...but it also makes me feel like a horrible person...*sigh*
Posted by: shelby | June 28, 2006 at 08:54 AM
I've only known one grandparent, my grandmother, who was influential on my life. We lost her a few years ago but she's always remembered fondly.
Heart-wrenching post.
Posted by: ChickyBabe | June 28, 2006 at 06:31 AM
Having lost my grandmother's body three years ago but her "twinkle" about 15 more after a tussle with a brain tumor, this post made me think of her and how much she loved me when I was a wee little slip of a girl.
"And don't you forget it."
These are happy tears.
Thank you.
Posted by: Margi | June 28, 2006 at 04:18 AM
Beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful!!!
And this post's not so bad, either;)
Posted by: trisha | June 28, 2006 at 12:26 AM
Three years ago, I lost my mom. For days she had been unable to speak. For years, she couldn't tell the difference between my children and my sister's. Still, two days before she died, she silently mouthed, "I love you."
This brought that beautiful memory back for me. Thank you for that.
Posted by: wordnerd | June 27, 2006 at 10:59 PM
OK, this one had me in tears. You really have a gift, Jennifer. Thanks for sharing it...
Posted by: Steph. | June 27, 2006 at 10:33 PM
Jen,
Well done, girl. And thanks for the recent visit and comment on mine. I read you daily but seldom comment. I'll try to do better. This post was special.
John
Posted by: Duke of Earle | June 27, 2006 at 10:16 PM
I didnt get to know either set of my grandparents (mixed marriages from the 60s sometimes had that effect on families), so I havent known them to age and fail. I am, however, getting a first-hand taste of it dealing with my mothers bi-polar lapses, which although not as debilitating as alzheimers, is a foreshadowing of times worse to come.
I recently asked a friend why we couldnt be like wild animals - upon leaving the nest, never looking back - but stories like this, stories like yours, show me why we are as we are, that our humanity comes from comprehending our own frailities and accepting their inevitability.
doesnt make it easier, though, does it?
Posted by: tallglassofvino | June 27, 2006 at 05:48 PM
What a beautiful heart wrenching post. I needed tissues for that one. There is so much emotion there. Wow! Hugsssssssss and Love you!
Posted by: Raggedy | June 27, 2006 at 05:13 PM
Whew, you did it again. Thank you.
Posted by: Deborah | June 27, 2006 at 05:08 PM
Lord, Jennifer, this brought back the last memories I have of my grandmother, after she had her first stroke. She knew me, but hadn't spoken for at least 4 months. When I walked in, she smiled, and said through her twisted mouth, "Judy!". I got to tell her before she died that her
newest granddaughter was named for her. For some reason, it was very important for me that she know that. She died 5 months later.
Posted by: kenju | June 27, 2006 at 04:11 PM