Trying times...

Dear reader: I actually wrote this post on 1-8-10, a week or so after my grandma passed away. It was too raw for me to post at the time, but now, nearly two years later, I think its worth sharing.

This post is one I wish I never needed to write. But its part of our lives, so I'm sharing for two reasons, first, to be able to look back on the blog and share with Collin the events of his life that made a difference and second, to honor my grandmother, who if nothing else should have the opportunity to let the world know just how amazing she was.

A little over 4 years ago my mom and her sister suspected my Grandma's health was failing, as she, a strong and independent woman was making decisions outside the realm of her usual character. Things that just seemed a bit strange, like subscribing to astrology readings, and forgetting about food in her refrigerator until it was rancid. It was a bit strange at first, but hindsight is 20/20 and in the wake of a very significant fall, it seems my grandmother was beginning a journey into the dark depths of dementia.

Within a year and a half she was unable to continue to live alone, and was moved, begrudgingly, to an assisted living facility. This was tremendously difficult for my mom and her sister to reconcile as they tried tediously to help her as well as they could while she struggled to maintain her independence. Her partner, Bob, continued to be a pillar of support and strength in her life, holding her up, when she failed to traverse life's challenges.

After settling into the assisted living facility her family (we) began to see the true toll the dementia was taking on her life. We watch as she regressed through her years, first addressing people who have long passed, like my grandfather, and then further recalling and asking for her mother and attempting to go to her childhood home as if it was her own.

In her long and laborious struggle we tried to maintain her dignity and to highlight her charisma. After this final year, as things rapidly declined, she was faced with new challenges as her body, as a function of the dementia, began to lose functions. Yet, somewhere burried within the dark coocoon dementia had placed over her, she still was the grandma I knew and loved dearly.

On Christmas day we had hoped to bring her out to my parents home to celebrate the holiday. It was on this day that we learned she was considerably more weak than expected and was unable to eat and drink. Just a week before my mom and her sister had offered the staff at the assisted living home authority to feed her whatever she wanted, cake, ice-cream, bring on the calories, but I don't think that they had any idea it was to preface an impending struggle.

The day after Christmas my family (Drew, Colllin and I) as well as my parents, brother, sister, cousins and aunt and Uncle began a vigil around my grandmother's bedside. We learned of her lack of intake- she was not eating food nor drinking water. She appeared to be continuously sleeping, and for our family, this, as difficult as it may appears was a blessing in disguise. After two years of fighting a disease that tried again and again to rob her of her mind, her life, her memories, and her health, she was seeking peace with God in a twilight of dreams, where we hoped she was gracefully touched by those who loved her so dearly and cradled gently into a promising future.

On Tuesday, four days after Christmas, December 28th, my grandmother passed through the gates of heaven early in the morning with her daughters at her side. She is at peace now, and while I could barely recognize the finality of her death, because it was so very painful, I now am forever grateful for her peaceful passing, and that she is no longer facing the demons of dementia.

To those who knew her, I am sure you too will miss her presence in Linwood. For those of you reading who didn't know her I offer you a glimpse into who she was and how I try to honor her.

My dearest grandma,
If life represents who we are and where we come from, yours was peppered with an entire community of love, compassion and kindness, brimming over the edges of a tiny town nestled in the folds of Michigan's midwestern lure, pinpointed somewhere between the the ridge above the soft folds of a thumb and forefinger. The same way that Michigan natives find there homes on their hands, a comforting sign of recognition to all who live there, you were a comfort those who loved you most, as though we could reach over our hearts and say here too is a location I can find. Here too is how you've touched my life.

 Its a terrible injustice that someone so independent, so generous, and so anxious to care for others could spend the last years of their life nearly incapacitated, unable to care for those around her, and unable to remind the world around her of her sense of mischief coupled with love.

As I reflect on my role as a mother now, I see so much of who I am in my own mother, a product of your love. I find myself with more maternal inclination than most women, reaching out to children near and far, ultimately placing me in a career allowing me to continue that effort to care for others. When I look at Collin I can't help but see love. I see in him the efforts that Drew and I have made to love him unconditionally, to keep him close to our hearts, to sooth him in times of need, to be a catalyst for his curiosity, to nurture his independence and to support him wholeheartedly as he explores this new and exciting world. I can't help but think so much of that comes from you, comes from my learning how to be generous and kind through the relationship you had with not only me, but with my mom and those around you.

As a grandmother, your generosity stood  at the forefront of your character- always pursuing how you could help. You always led your love with our best interests at heart. How you could feed us (Are you hungry?), how we could put our best foot forward(Do you need some rouge on your lips?), how we could demonstrate manners and ettiquette (Drink your soda from a glass!). These questions, nearly petulant at the time, are often the ways I envision you now. Sitting at the kitchen table, holding out a Coke from the coal room pouring it into a small juice glass rippled with finger holds all the while asking about our lives--listening closely for the pieces that illustrated how we are intricately linked in mannerisms, joys and challenges.

Your house contains hundreds of memories that make bittersweet the notion of giving it up to another family. I draw on the little chest of drawers in the blue bedroom, the top drawer filled with baby doll clothes and socks. I inhale the smell of age and wisdom, a little bit musty, but incredibly familiar intertwined with baby powder, a contrast of new and old. I would play with the items in that drawer before curling up for a nap on the bed with a soft knitted basketweave blanket, tended by your very hands.

In the dining room the curio cupboard held the supply of candy-- always treats that seemed a generation removed, making them exotic and exciting. Ribbon candy, Bit Oh Honey, Peanut Butter kisses, circus peanuts and orange slices.

Across the way, in the family room, the ottoman and desk hold hours of our childhood playing a strange version of cards and bingo (Pokeno), Chinese Checkers and a half assembled version of Yahtzee. We entered a world of play while the adults in our lives danced around us in the holidays, Sunday afternoons and lazy day visits that orchestrated their lives.

Together these memories hold you in the background, lingering over me, always present, but never in between. Its a fantastic way to remember you, always there, always present, a comfort in our lives. A brief smile, then smirk on your face, glowing with a budding sense of mischieviousness and love.

Weaved through our lives, an intricate web of influence, you are remembered in so many ways- your hillarious antics "Hey! That's Kind of Neat!", you're more famously, yet comforting sayings "I don't want to hear a peep out of you!", your treasure trove of adventure- a laundry chute, a coal bin, a history of upstairs that contain a history of family and events and endless dark corners of a wonderous basement. We remember you for your entrances, "Yooo Hooo!", your class, your standards and how you've shared them with us, patiently accepting each one of our adolescent resistance and finally, loving encouragement and honor to be a part of your amazing world.

As I learned about who you were before my time, as a young mother, a teenage daughter, a wanderlust searching out true love, it became evident that your final role as grandmother was a brief portion of your life and I wonder how all of the challenges you faced contributed to who I am as a person-- how your own personal strife impacted how you decided to interact with your children and grandchildren. I wonder what you took from your journey that made you such an amazing person, I wonder if in a sweet dream if you could whipser to me and share your road so that I too may find my way to being such an amazing person in later ages.

Remembering who you were before your disease is much of what I focus on. I choose to see you the way I hope you find yourself as you spend eternity. I hope you are a reflection of the very best you. I hope you left this life able to reflect on your journey and see that those final days were the means to the end of a destructive disease harboring you captive and that somewhere inside, when the tangles of your brain were carefully unbraided, you would emerge as your former self.

It will continue to be an incredibly empty and somber journey for us as we progress through your passing. I ache for the way you were robbed of yourself in the end; a window to the unjust nature of life made evident that no matter how much we hoped and loved and cherished you, you were not coming back to us as the grandma we knew.And so it was that we slowly said goodbye in a way that no one should have to encounter, a slow, tedious and painful departure, small threads of you taken each day from the collective knitting of life.

I don't know that I'll ever know a way to say goodbye. Instead I keep you alive in photos and memories, sharing with Collin the life and times of Great Grandma Delorise. My heart hurts that he did not get to know you because your mischievousness is alive and well in him. I reflect on how long its taken to say goodbye in finality and when that journey began nearly two years ago. Saying goodbye for two years is challenging-- watching someone's soul leave slowly and begrudgingly is nothing short of deabilitating-- but also creates a sort of immunity in you- at some point my heart decided existing in a sort of physical purgatory was the way to hang on to you, all the while simultaneously wishing you could be easily relased to be wrapped in the comforting arms of your husband and son, making me numb, I suppose.

And so, here we are, you are finally at rest, and I'm forced to find a way to exist with you only in my heart. Know that I'll take the very best of you and share with my children. I'll sprinkle your wisdom in my work, my passions, my family and my character. I'll hold your voice, your mannerisms, your sayings in my thoughts, offering moments for replay, for integration into my daily life. I look forward to hearing your voice, your principles, your memories impacting my choices. I look forward to seeing you in my dreams. I look forward to seeing the genuine smile on your face and hearing the story of how you reunited with those you love who passed before you when I too make that journey.

I miss you already and my love for you really knows no bounds. You're such an amazing part of who I am, and I'm forever grateful for how you helped to mold me into the woman I am today.

With all my love,
Alisha