Just got back from visiting my 94 year old Grandmother in a nursing facility. She's been dealing with dementia/alzheimer's for sometime now. I visited with her yesterday and although fairly lethargic, she knew who both I and my daughter were and our relation to her. So. . .it was a quiet but meaningful visit.
Today, however, I found myself in the strangest of strange situations. Grandma was in a wheelchair in the hallway and I walked up to her, knelt down, put my hand on her knee and said, "Hi, Grandma, how are you today?" She looked at me quite angrily and said, "Who are you?" I knew this day was coming, so it didn't throw me too bad, I just answered her that it was me, Donna, her granddaughter. She told me no that I wasn't her Donna and that I could, "Too-da-loo!" Basically telling me to leave. So, I stayed with her, giving her her space, just so she knew I was around.
Her charge nurse came and rolled her into the game room where they were listening to the Beach Boys and throwing around a beach ball for exercise. I went in, stood behind grandma's chair and just enjoyed watching the elderly people enjoy the music and interaction. Grandma sat quietly, more sleeping than anything else. The nursing staff knew what grandma had said to me and they all were very sweet, consoling me and such, but I didn't feel I needed consoling, I knew the day would come. They told me, "Yes but it still hurts", and they were right. I told them it was just important that I was there- she knew in her heart and soul that I was there and that was all that mattered. I was just a quiet presence is all and that was ok because I knew she could sense me being there.
One of the weirdest things for me, I found, was how to relate to these people. I knew how to communicate with kids, teens, people my age, my elders, but I found in the presence of these folks, these people that had seen more and experienced more than anyone I knew, these people with years of living on their faces, sadness in their eyes, anger on their lips at times, and the want of love and compassion in their hearts, while appearing old, spoke and interacted like children. Here I stood, having raised kids, lost two parents, 3 grandparents, prison guard for 10 years, having witnessed men stabbing men, men hanging themselves, how to check a fool when being disrespectful, I found myself completely dumbfounded for a way to interact, respond and communicate with them. I just stood and smiled, not knowing what to say.
One very tall staff member in all white joined everyone and began clapping her hands to the music. Some of the people responded by clapping in turn, including Grandma. I was glad to see her responding. She even began to smile. The staff member nudged me with her elbow and said, "See?! You get them responding to the joy and it takes them back to the era and they remember the good things!" She must have seen the loss of what to do on my face. She was very kind and sweet with everyone, especially me.
Eventually, they came in and began to wheel everyone out for lunch, it was time for me to head out to receive the kids from school anyways so I approached grandma and told her I had to go. She looked up at me smiling and said, "OH! I'm going to eat lunch! Do you want to have lunch with me?" I told her I couldn't because I had to get the kids. "Next time," she responded. At this point I was knelt down before her again and held her hand. I looked at her and said, "Grandma, do you know who I am?" Awaiting the second heart piercing of the day, she responded, "Yes! You're my granddaughter!" I gave her a great big kiss and hug and promised to return again tomorrow.
It is so hard to watch someone who was so stubborn, head strong and independent suffer this type of mental and emotional anguish. Yes, it is hard on the family, but imagine it: having lived a lifetime and not knowing who anyone is around you, not remembering things from minute to minute, knowing you used to be able to do things that you are no longer capable of doing, even going to the bathroom on your own. . .
I love you, Grandma. . . .
Today, however, I found myself in the strangest of strange situations. Grandma was in a wheelchair in the hallway and I walked up to her, knelt down, put my hand on her knee and said, "Hi, Grandma, how are you today?" She looked at me quite angrily and said, "Who are you?" I knew this day was coming, so it didn't throw me too bad, I just answered her that it was me, Donna, her granddaughter. She told me no that I wasn't her Donna and that I could, "Too-da-loo!" Basically telling me to leave. So, I stayed with her, giving her her space, just so she knew I was around.
Her charge nurse came and rolled her into the game room where they were listening to the Beach Boys and throwing around a beach ball for exercise. I went in, stood behind grandma's chair and just enjoyed watching the elderly people enjoy the music and interaction. Grandma sat quietly, more sleeping than anything else. The nursing staff knew what grandma had said to me and they all were very sweet, consoling me and such, but I didn't feel I needed consoling, I knew the day would come. They told me, "Yes but it still hurts", and they were right. I told them it was just important that I was there- she knew in her heart and soul that I was there and that was all that mattered. I was just a quiet presence is all and that was ok because I knew she could sense me being there.
One of the weirdest things for me, I found, was how to relate to these people. I knew how to communicate with kids, teens, people my age, my elders, but I found in the presence of these folks, these people that had seen more and experienced more than anyone I knew, these people with years of living on their faces, sadness in their eyes, anger on their lips at times, and the want of love and compassion in their hearts, while appearing old, spoke and interacted like children. Here I stood, having raised kids, lost two parents, 3 grandparents, prison guard for 10 years, having witnessed men stabbing men, men hanging themselves, how to check a fool when being disrespectful, I found myself completely dumbfounded for a way to interact, respond and communicate with them. I just stood and smiled, not knowing what to say.
One very tall staff member in all white joined everyone and began clapping her hands to the music. Some of the people responded by clapping in turn, including Grandma. I was glad to see her responding. She even began to smile. The staff member nudged me with her elbow and said, "See?! You get them responding to the joy and it takes them back to the era and they remember the good things!" She must have seen the loss of what to do on my face. She was very kind and sweet with everyone, especially me.
Eventually, they came in and began to wheel everyone out for lunch, it was time for me to head out to receive the kids from school anyways so I approached grandma and told her I had to go. She looked up at me smiling and said, "OH! I'm going to eat lunch! Do you want to have lunch with me?" I told her I couldn't because I had to get the kids. "Next time," she responded. At this point I was knelt down before her again and held her hand. I looked at her and said, "Grandma, do you know who I am?" Awaiting the second heart piercing of the day, she responded, "Yes! You're my granddaughter!" I gave her a great big kiss and hug and promised to return again tomorrow.
It is so hard to watch someone who was so stubborn, head strong and independent suffer this type of mental and emotional anguish. Yes, it is hard on the family, but imagine it: having lived a lifetime and not knowing who anyone is around you, not remembering things from minute to minute, knowing you used to be able to do things that you are no longer capable of doing, even going to the bathroom on your own. . .
I love you, Grandma. . . .
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