When
somebody you love has Alzheimers or progressing dementia, you miss them while
you are with them. You miss the self they had always been.
I've been thinking a lot about my grandma Kiki lately and the qualities that will be missed the most.
Her problem-solving was hilarious and tended to earn her standing ovations in public. There was a time when she was caught in a traffic jam because there was a giant snapping turtle sitting in the middle of the road and nobody knew what to do. So Kiki marched out of her car, grabbed a long stick off the side of the street, and brought it to the turtle. Said snapping turtle immediately latched on and Kiki led it into the woods with the stick. All the other drivers started cheering.
Her sense of humor was so lovable. After my aunt Mary was born, Kiki and my grandpa went back to visit the nurse who had delivered her. They brought her a watermelon wrapped in a baby blanket and said, "We're returning the baby. This one leaks."
She also used to approach other old women in the grocery store, align her shopping cart with theirs, and ask if they wanted to race. And there was the time when she and my grandpa were eating at a diner and he couldn't find the menu, then discovered he had been sitting on it the whole time. Kiki told him, "You were ass-essing the menu."
Even though those are qualities that are rapidly disappearing with the brain disease, and it's crushing to watch them go, they will always be a part of my life because they were a part of her. They're a part of everyone who knew her.
I've been thinking a lot about my grandma Kiki lately and the qualities that will be missed the most.
Her problem-solving was hilarious and tended to earn her standing ovations in public. There was a time when she was caught in a traffic jam because there was a giant snapping turtle sitting in the middle of the road and nobody knew what to do. So Kiki marched out of her car, grabbed a long stick off the side of the street, and brought it to the turtle. Said snapping turtle immediately latched on and Kiki led it into the woods with the stick. All the other drivers started cheering.
Her sense of humor was so lovable. After my aunt Mary was born, Kiki and my grandpa went back to visit the nurse who had delivered her. They brought her a watermelon wrapped in a baby blanket and said, "We're returning the baby. This one leaks."
She also used to approach other old women in the grocery store, align her shopping cart with theirs, and ask if they wanted to race. And there was the time when she and my grandpa were eating at a diner and he couldn't find the menu, then discovered he had been sitting on it the whole time. Kiki told him, "You were ass-essing the menu."
Even though those are qualities that are rapidly disappearing with the brain disease, and it's crushing to watch them go, they will always be a part of my life because they were a part of her. They're a part of everyone who knew her.
