Love in the Time of Alzheimer's

My grandma is an 83 year old power house. Up until last year she would ride her bike anywhere she went, would wake up at 6 in the morning to go to the market and would walk faster than any agile 20 year old. When we went to a wedding 7 years ago, she was the liveliest person there. 10 years ago she lost most of her eye sight. This would slow down any other person, but all it meant for my grandma was to become more resourceful. She would memorize where everything was, and if someone came into the room she'd say "And who do we have here?" making it sound like a cutesy rhetorical question, disguising the fact that she really didn't know who was standing in front of her. Her mind became her eyes and her eyes became a reminder of something gone.

It always starts the same way. Misplaced keys, forgotten appointments. Old age, they said. Oh, it's because she can't see, they said. It's easy to make excuses for such mindless brain blocks. After all, we all forget birthdays and people's last names. My grandma began meeting strangers inside her own house. She made friends with them and she said they turned out to be nice people. Your daughter and your husband, you mean? No no, I've never given birth to anyone. She stopped forgetting dates and groceries, she forgot her life: daughters, parents, marriage. Worst of all, she was creating new, false memories. One day, we were thinking about visiting a concentration camp. I've been there! I saw someone burned alive! And even though she'd never been there, or any concentration camp for that matter, she could not be convinced otherwise.

This all sounds terrifying, and believe me it is. My worst fears became a reality when I overheard my grandpa going to get her on Skype and her arguing with him that she doesn't have a granddaughter. That she doesn't know anyone named Asia. But then her face popped up on my screen: My dear Asia! She exclaimed. I'm always so happy to see you, it always brightens my day!

Pre-Alzheimer's my grandma was by no means an angel. She would bud into the front of any line and if confronted she would just shrug her shoulders and say "well I'm standing here now." She would make loud comments about people's weight or looks right I'm front of them. She would make rude remarks when she came to Canada, a time when I never felt more grateful for her not speaking English. She believed in social classes and money. She succeeded in making my dad think less of himself.

This dark side was a stark contrast from the grandma that I knew. She's the type of person that brings laughter into any room. Whenever we'd walk to the market she'd hum to herself and have a skip to her step. She would create photo albums of all our summers together with loving comments in the margins. She gifted me with travel and world knowledge. She would prepare 4 months in advance for our arrival in Poland. She gave us so much love that I didn't even realize what anger could hide within until I was much, much older-- and when I did see it I feared that I could never unsee it.

In a twisted way Alzheimer's brought back my grandma. It took away all of the worst parts of her. She has forgotten all of the anger, wars, losses. She has re-remembered how to love.

Growing up I never saw much affection between my grandparents. More specifically, I never saw it from my grandma-- or at least not in the traditional sense. My grandpa is an old school romantic. He will kiss a woman's hand when he first meets her and will flower any woman with the cheesiest of compliments. "Doesn't your grandma look dashing in that dress?" my grandpa would say affectionately, "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about" would be a typical Grandma response. These rejections have never deterred my dear Grandpa. Ever since she lost her eyesight he reads her every day: newspaper articles, the TV guide, entire novels. At 84 years old, he began cooking for the first time in his life because my grandma forgot how to do so. He teaches her about her new way of life. He's her eyes and her mind. Throughout their life, he'd hold her hand and give her kisses, but my grandma never took this same initiative.

My grandma's favourite story to tell, that I've heard dozens of times and counting, is about waking up at the hospital and receiving papers that told her who she is. I think she holds on to it so dearly because it is her strongest memory of not remembering. She always tells me :

"And then this man came up to me and said 'you are my wife!' and I told him 'I don't think I'd want to marry you!' Can you believe it? He thinks were married! What a joke.

"Then they took me to their house. It's a very interesting house because it has all of my old furniture and I'm not sure how they got it. We had dinner and we talked which was really nice, but I had to get going back to my own home. I didn't think they would make me stay forever, but here I am now. I have to come up with an escape plan."

Recently my grandma made an addition to this story:

"You know, when this man told me that I am his wife, I could not accept it. I was not thrilled by the idea at all. But you know what? Now, I've gotten to know him. He's a hard working man, he's loving and he's kind. I'm absolutely okay with being his wife."

Ever since my grandma's epiphany, my "get your paws away from me" grandma has become a love-struck teenager. She snuggles into my grandpa's chest when they sit on the couch. She sits on his lap when they watch TV. She sneaks him kisses and tells me how she can't live without him. They sleep in separate beds, but every night before they split up they cuddle and whisper sweet nothings. They hold hands while they take their daily walk around the pond. She still replies to him with sassy retorts when he tells her how beautiful, but in a playful way: Oh stop it. I'm so old. Giggle.

Today, my grandma is not the same person she was a week ago, a month ago. Every day is a new struggle, from her moving out to stashing all her money in an unknown location. Tomorrow, she might not love us the same way. Her sparks of memory might not be ignited by hearing someone's voice. But what's important is not her holding onto her own memories-- it's impossible to stop her brain for deteriorating, but us holding onto what we know of her-- the best of her.

#dementia #grandparents #family #alzheimers #memory