Even though the last couple of nights have been cooler, I still have two fans blowing on while I sleep. One to pull the cool air in from outside; the other to blow cool air directly on me. I turned both of them off early this morning, not because I was cold, but because it was raining and I wanted to listen to it.
There’s something about sleeping while it’s raining that seems to make my dreams more vivid. I don’t recall my dreams very often unless they’re particularly emotional, like the ones I used to have about Mike after he died. The plot was always the same: we were separated and I had made up my mind that I wanted us back together. So, I’d try to call him. Sometimes the line would be busy. Other times, the phone was disconnected or I couldn’t find a phone to call him. I’d wake up, frustrated and thinking, “This is ridiculous, I’m calling him right now.” And then I’d remember the real reason I couldn’t call him.
This morning, in my dream I was JD from Scrubs, who just found out that a favorite elderly patient was going to die. I’m quite sure that this dream was inspired by the episode we just saw the other night; where (as The Boyfriend put it) “Mrs. Walton” played a favorite patient who actually did die.
But when I woke up, I started thinking about my grandma, and how I haven’t seen her in a very long time. Part of that is just selfish behavior on my part: too busy, too many things to do, don’t want to give up my days off. I hate myself for thinking those things, but I suspect I’m not the only one who does. Be honest.
The other part of me is afraid she won’t remember me.
Information in my family is not always easy to come by. I (half) jokingly tell people that I’ve called my cousin out-of-state to find out what’s going on here in town. Keeping people up-to-date is not my dad’s strong suit, so sometimes it was easier to call someone else in the family. I’m never quite sure what’s going on, though.
I had suspected that my grandmother had Alzheimer’s for years, but my dad always said she was just forgetful. I didn’t buy it, though, mostly because after Mike and I were married in 1989, Grandma made us an afghan as a wedding gift, making a point of telling me that it was extra long because we’re both tall. A year later, she presented us with another one and apologized for it being so late. That’s a little beyond forgetfulness, in my opinion.
Granted, she was dealing with a lot at the time. My grandpa wasn’t in good health and she was taking care of him. In fact, my grandma became a widow just a couple months before I did. Every now and then, she would stop by and bring the boys and me cookies. Looking back on it now, I wonder if she was trying to reach out to me and I was just too wrapped up in my own grief to see it. I’m sure that my grandma grieved, but she also lived. She’s always been active both socially and physically. She’s my idol when it comes to aging. Except for the forgetfulness.
I’m more afraid of forgetting things than I am of dying. And truth be told, I’ve forgotten a lot already. This is what I remember about my grandparents:
Grandpa loved basketball and really wanted me to play. If he’d lived to see the WNBA, I never would have heard the end of it. In later years, I’d get annoyed with him because he was so absolutely taken with his youngest grandson, B, who is two years older than his first great-grandchildren, JM and JL. Every time I was over there, it was “B does this” and “B does that.” Hello? I’ve just brought forth your next generation! Could you notice them too, please? (Thinking about that a little more, I bet he was like my dad and talked about them when we weren’t around.)
Grandma used to make all of us birthday cakes. All of the girls had doll cakes, where the cake part made up the skirt of a long dress, and a doll torso and head stuck out of the top, which Grandma decorated with frosting to make up the bodice and sleeves of the dress. I wish I had a picture of one of them.
Most of the visits with our grandparents seemed to take place on holidays. Maybe there were more, or maybe my parents were just as bad about visiting as I am now. What I remember is every Christmas we’d be at their house, all of the kids dying to open presents while the grown-ups took their sweet time lingering over dinner. ARGH!!!
I also remember the front closet of their house in Maumee. The closet with all the toys in it. The dog that barked when you squeezed it. The Fisher-Price barn that mooed when you opened the doors. There were others, but those are the ones I remember. I plan to have a similar closet when I have my own grandkids.
The things I remember seem so small in number. It bothers me that there isn’t more. Especially when JL calls me and asks, “Do you remember that tape that you gave me for my birthday when we were still living in Stony Ridge?” (No.) Or JM asks, “Do you remember when we went to Sidecut Park because you were thinking about burying some of Dad’s ashes there so we’d have a place to visit?” I didn’t remember that one either, although there is a bit of a flicker way back in the dark recesses of my mind - especially if that was also the time when we were repeatedly terrorized by a squirrel while we tried to eat our dinner.
How can I be forgetting things about my own kids this soon?
By the time my grandmother was in assisted living, and forgetting things as soon as she said them, my dad acknowledged that she had Alzheimer’s. My stepmom refuted that a couple weeks ago and said it’s dementia. I don’t know what to think anymore and I avoid asking because I’m afraid.
I think I need to find some courage though, to go see her. Soon.
Technorati Tags: memories, grandmother, grandparents, forgetting, Alzheimer’s
She may not recognize you and she’ll most certainly not remember the visit, but do it anyway, for your own sake
As for remembering, sometimes you just have to shut all of the nuisance stuff, sit quietly, and think.
You’d be amazed at what pops into your head and what else those thoughts trigger.
MNHO
Hooda, my dad and I are going to go see her next weekend.
Valerie,
My grandmother and mother died from Alzheimer’s disease. I’ve been there.
AD is a form of dementia, but not the only form. So your grandmother can be demented without having AD. Especially if she’s had several strokes or has other “blood flow” problems.
There is no definite diagnosis available while a patient is alive. The only true diagnosis of AD comes from an autopsy.
Still, while you can go see your grandmother. She may not know you or remember the visit, but it’s an important thing to do.
As for you forgetting activities? That’s common with us all. What one person thinks is important (and worth remembering) might not hold the impact for someone else. Doesn’t mean a thing. As they say: forgetting where you put the keys is normal; forgetting why you need keys is a problem.
It was nice to see you at BlogHer. Hopefully again next year.