I went down to see my grandmother, Baba, last Thursday afternoon/evening with my mom. She was going down anyway, so I figured I would ride down with her and we would both visit Baba. I mentioned last Thursday morning that I heard that she wasn't eating. Whether her brain was telling her she was full and couldn't fit anymore food in or it was her just refusing the food, she hadn't eaten in a few days when we went down there. As always, I tried to prepare myself before I went to be ready for whatever was in store. This time, despite how much I thought I was ready, I wasn't. She just wasn't the same. Normally, when we would walk in, either together or on our own, Baba would get excited to see us. Her face would light up, she would perk up from whatever she was doing, and be generally happy to see either of us. In short, there was still a spark within her, a knowledge that she knew who we were and that she was somehow related to us, even if she didn't necessarily remember our names. I never cared if she didn't know my name, but to see a spark in her eye, a sign of life beyond just the physical aspect of her body functioning, was all I needed. The highlight every time for me was to see that Baba remembered my son and his name. This past Thursday, everything was different. For whatever reason, since she stopped eating, she has quickly declined. She perked up a little when we walked in last Thursday, but there wasn't much excitement or signs that she really knew who we were. She might have, but she gave no indication that she did. Even when I showed her the latest picture of my son, there was a little more happiness at the sight of a young toddler, but nothing compared to what was there before. I don't even think she remembered his name. There was just a general lack of recognition. Even physically she wasn't doing well. Her eyes were a little sunken in from not eating and her eyelids were half closed the entire time we were there. She struggled to talk and when she did it was slow and meandering. Neither my mom or I could figure out what she was talking about the entire time we were there. We could understand the words, but halfway through a sentence she would trail off, then smile, then start on something else. The only intelligble sentences we could really make out were right before we left when she talked a little about the fake flowers on top of her dresser.
It was very tough to see her like that. While we were there, every time I started thinking about her, what she used to be like, and what she has become, I almost started to cry. So I didn't think about any of that while I was there, I just couldn't. If I did cry, I don't think I could have possibly explained to her why I was crying in such a way that she would understand. I haven't even thought that much about it since then, until now. It is much easier not to think about a person and the situation they are in than to think about it and deal with the emotions that come flooding in. Yet, here I am, thinking about it because I need to, and the tears are making my coffee a little salty. I really don't know how much longer she has at this point. It has been about a week without very little food and we all know that a body can't survive for that long without food, maybe three weeks if a person is healthy. She is drinking water, yet that is not enough to keep her going. I will definitely make it down to see her this week at least once, hopefully twice. Up until last week, I guess I had been harboring a hope that she would make it longer than it appears she will. Every time I saw her smile and talked to her, it was enough for me to know that she still knew who my son was and still got excited to have visitors. And while she still gets a little excited to see visitors, it pales in comparison to what it was. Yet, despite the fact that we have to witness her slow demise, a decline that I wouldn't wish upon anyone, it is giving us time to prepare for the inevitable, her passing. I'd like to think that with all this time that when her time comes, I won't be a mess, yet I know I still will be. I won't be able to keep it together, but that's OK. I do my crying in the morning and then get better for the rest of the day, putting on a good face for my son who doesn't understand any of this, yet knows who Baba is in pictures.
The only way that helps me through the emotions right now is to stop thinking of the current condition that Baba is in and to think about who she was and the impact that she had on me and so many other people. Yes, she had a tendency to be controlling, but she also had so much love to give that, at least for me, it was easy to overlook the controlling aspect of who she was. Despite when she goes and what condition she is in when she goes, her memory will live on. She has and always will have a place in my heart. Who she was is not who she is now. She has lived a good long life and now I only pray that she goes peacefully and without pain. Yes, it would be nice if I heard from my mom that she all of a sudden started eating again and her memory improved, but I know that won't be the case. Her mind is unraveling and nothing anyone does will be able to put it back together. Its just hard seeing a shadow of a person that used to have so much life and vitality in them. To see them fade over the course of a half a year from a point where they were still pretty much self sufficient is depressing. But she is in her 90's and maybe this is her time. I think the hardest part about last Thursday was when my mom and I said goodbye, said we loved her, and she didnt' say she loved us back. That was the first time that she hasn't responed by saying "I love you". Such is the life of a person living with dementia, probably harder on the family than on the individual dealing with it.
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