My grandma has dementia. I thought she was far gone seven years ago but as it turns out there are worse stages than simply not being able to hold a conversation or occasionally leaving her room without clothes. five years ago I would have loved to hear her say my name but your expectations decline as the illness takes the best from them and now I count myself lucky to get a word out of her. Dementia is a terrible thing. When you get old you expect your joints to fail and your skin to wrinkle. No one expects to be a beauty at 93 but you do buy into the idea of retaining a beautiful nature and personality. When dementia is in your family. You can't even count on that. I am afraid to live too long. It's scary to see her the way she is now. It makes me treasure the time we had with her seven years ago when my grandfather died.
I can still remember her sobbing when the nurse told us. She was such a quiet woman usually. The sound was startling. When we went and saw his body she had one of her rare moments of clarity. She whispered loving words to her husband as my mother stroked his white hair. My grandpa always looked after her but after he died so suddenly it was our turn. We took her into our house and tried to cope as best we could. We noticed her deterioration then. She would tell the same story over and over again, blame my brother for stealing her handbag which she had hidden and forgotten and couldn't seem to string logical thoughts together. I guess I had assumed that she had forgotten about her husband who we were all still grieving for. As it turns out her attitude was simply a testament for what an amazingly strong woman she was.
The moment happened about a month after Robin's death. I walked past her room when I heard her sobbing. I opened the door to make sure she was okay and she was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room holding a picture of him. It broke my heart. I went to her and hugged her and she held me back. We sat like that for a while, just holding each other. When she tried to talk to me she couldn't remember his name. She just told me that he was beautiful.
I felt so protective of her in that moment. I wanted so badly to shelter her from her illness. I couldn't though. Her mind went slowly and the grief was replaced with a numbness as she forgot more. She declined and we gave her up to a home. Now she has to be fed by a nurse and I feel victorious if she responds to me in any way at all. I wish there was a happy ending but its impossible to stop time.
