My Grammy

My maternal grandmother had dementia.

My paternal grandmother has dementia.

But I think it would be more true to say dementia had them. I find it hard, now, to remember when Grammy was not like this. She is a world-traveler, a strong woman who raised five children on a farm, besides working as a teacher and taking night classes. She lost her husband about 35 years ago in a car accident. She is a smart woman, with a love for reading, teaching, and music. She played the organ at the church. She spent time in Greenland and the Czech Republic, and traveled extensively in her retirement. She is an amazing cook. She loves opera music, she is a shrewd businesswomen and she has an impressive collection of books. She has only four grandchildren, and she made us each a quilt. To defy her arthritis, she would swim each day, for about five months of the year, in the frigid Bay of Fundy. I force myself to remember these things, because this is who my grandmother is.

It is funny how fleeting these things are. We treasure things in our minds but in the end, our minds just end up being shrivelled away until we become like Grammy. Lots of people, blessed people, do not have dementia in their old age, staying sharp until the end. But for some people, like Grammy, her brain is the first to go. I miss her. I love her the way she is, but I miss the way she used to be. I tend to be nostalgic and it’s easy to be nostalgic when it comes to Grammy. I miss the days when she would read to us from Swiss Family Robinson, even though at the time we thought it was a silly book. Now, she struggles to read the margarine container. I miss the days when the relatives were all gathered together- a fiddle or two, and Grammy on the piano. I miss the days when she knew my name, for goodness sake, and my gender. Now she calls me a “lovely little boy.” Sometimes she tries to chew on her fingers, even though she used to scold me for sucking my thumb. Grammy cannot form coherent sentences anymore.

But it does no good to be nostalgic. I find it hard to find the balance between helping Grammy with everyday things like getting out of her chair or just holding her hand, and treating her with the dignity and respect she deserves. It’s hard to remember, when I am trying to get her to stop spitting at her helpers, that this is probably the strongest woman I know. I do not know if I will get the opportunity to meet another woman like her. Here’s the other thing: I think she may have sacrificed her sanity for her children and grandchildren. She worked so hard her whole life and I see her influence and her genetics in her children and grandchildren. Both of her daughters became teachers, like her, and both shared her musical talent. Her sons, as well, are multi-talented. As for her grandchildren- my cousin has inherited her business sense, I have inherited her love for literature, my brother has inherited her musical talent and my sister has inherited her sewing and teaching talents. Sometimes I wonder if it was from working so hard that she got dementia. On the other hand, it could be just genetics.

It scares me that I might get dementia in my old age. There is also early onset dementia, which comes as soon as middle age. That frightens me a lot, because I know it is in my genes. But I guess I could have a whole new way of looking at life. I watched a TED talk once about happiness, and the difference between remembered happiness, and happiness in the moment. Even though remembered happiness is great, the knowledge that I may someday forget the events and people of my life spurs me on to appreciate everything. Remembering and thinking seem like such normal things to do, but I am thankful for my brain every day. I may not always have it.