My grandma has dementia. Her once strong arms that held children and grandchildren now find themselves wrapped around mine as she steadies herself to walk. Her once busy feet that ran around the family farm have found a much slower and unsteady pace. Her mind that was strong has gone and left behind a darling little girl who cries with joy when she’s surrounded by those she loves and with sadness when her heart is touched by sappy movies and re-runs of Little House on the Prairie. I count it a privilege to be able to share in these moments with her.
The first time I remember seeing the change in Grandma was several years ago. It was Thanksgiving night and our family was gathering our coats to begin the three hour drive home. While these partings were sometimes difficult, they were often filled with love and a quiet peace that comes from spending time with the people closest to you. But on this day, it seemed more traumatic to her. Tears spilled from her eyes with a certain intensity and her hug felt of loving desperation. It’s hard to explain, really. We left and I spent the car ride home wondering what had changed in Grandma.
A few times I remember her telling the adults that her mind was slipping but that the doctors said there was nothing wrong. Looking back, I can hear the fear hidden in her words; how awful it must be to lose something so precious.
The years came and went but each time we visited, Grandma had left us a little more. I remember her always being strong and opinionated, but these days she is much softer and laughs more often. She giggles when I remind her of my cousins and I re-enacting the nativity scene (I as Joseph, my cousin, Abigail, as Mary and a raggedy doll as baby Jesus) and gets this far off look when I ask her about her and Grandpa at sixteen. Somedays I am Lauren, her granddaughter and other days I am just the nice young lady who bathes and dresses her. But I am thankful to be both, because tonight after I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight, I heard my Grandma’s sing-song voice from across the room whisper, “I love you!” and despite the difficulties that the day had held, I whispered back, “I love you, too,” with the biggest smile on my face. Now I know that, “for better or for worse, for in sickness and in health,” not only applies to those who are married, but is found in the very fabric that binds us to family.
So, for the next five months I will be living in Ohio with my grandparents, just a town over from where I grew up. This place is different from what my child’s eyes remember. There used to be magic in the air and all of the fields and trees beckoned me to new adventures, but now I see sleepy buildings in need of new paint and old storefronts all boarded up. That’s okay though, because the magic hasn’t gone, it’s just changed. These streets now hold memories like an old friend who’s opened the door and welcomed me in to stay awhile, and these hills remember me and are eager to learn who I’ve become. It’s strangely wonderful to walk into the homes of my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins with such frequency and to know that I am loved and supported from all sides. It’s something I haven’t experienced since we moved when I was young. Some people dream about having a family like mine, and I know that I have been blessed far beyond what I deserve. Truth be told, I’m already dreading the Fall when I’ll have to say good-bye to these people and this small town life, but I know that these next few months hold treasures that I will hold onto for a lifetime, and I can’t wait to begin this new chapter.
