To My Grandmother.

I am lucky enough at the age of thirty to still have four living grandparents.  I know very few people my age that still have all their grandparents in their lives and even fewer who have children with four great-grandparents.  It makes me so happy to know that my own children may have memories of their great-grandparents and even happier still that I have so many wonderful memories of spending time with them as a child and an adult.

My paternal and maternal grandparents are very different from each other.  As a child I would have described my paternal grandparents as fun-loving, energetic, playful, and kind.  I remember watching movies with them, playing hours of cards, making puzzles, Christmas and birthdays, road trips and so much more.  As an adult I would admit that although they are both slowing down they still are full of life and fun.  They love to have a good time and love being around family even more.

My maternal grandparents are a whole other kettle of fish.  As a child I would have described them as boring, quiet, strict and maybe even mean.  I do have good memories of holidays and vacations, shopping trips and sleepovers, but my memories of spending time with them aren't as vivid or lively when compared to those of my other grandparents.  Now, as an adult I have come to the realization that perhaps I misunderstood mt maternal grandparents to an extent.  Yes, they are rather reserved and proper, they tend to be traditionalists and put manners and demeanor above all else.  They also have a high regard for structure, rules and order.  The "meanness" that I perceived as a child is really quick, sarcastic humour (that most children don't understand anyway).  In the end they are equally wonderful grandparents - just in a different way.

This evaluation of my childhood versus adult perception has been brought on by some changes in my maternal grandmother's health.  She suffered a stroke in the late spring and a second major stroke at the end of the summer.  The first was the typical blood cot that we all think of as being a stroke, but the second was actually the result of bleeding in her brain that caused pressure to build.  The affects of this second stroke have been life altering for both of my grandparents.  My grandmother's mobility has decreased, she has also lost some fine and gross motor skills and in general requires more care.  As a result she and my grandfather have sold their home to move into a facility that offers some assisted living services and allows them to continue to live together.  All of this has been a difficult transition for them and for our family as a whole.

The most significant change in my grandmother, and the most difficult to deal with, is the loss of her short-term memory and the "disorganization" of her long-term memory.  I know it seems odd to say someone's memory is disorganized, but that is the only way I can think to explain it.  For example, she clearly has vivid memories of all of her children growing-up and many memories of her adult life.  At the same time her memories between then and now seem out of order and disconnected.  She remembers me and my siblings, but asked my single sister about her daughters - really meaning my girls.  She knows that I have two daughters, but can only remember Sophie.  She can't quite place how Molly is related to her, how old she is or remember her name.   But, she knows she is my daughter and that makes her important to her.  Her short-term memory is so poor that she can't knit, read a book or really partake in any in-depth conversation.  Everything is in her head, but it is disjointed and reconnected in ways that just don't quite make sense. 

Sitting with her is a strange experience.   She looks like herself - perhaps a little older and a little less polished than usual, but still her.  She sounds like herself - perhaps a little less confident and slightly more childlike, but still her.  There are moments when she tells a story with such clarity, livelihood and humour that you think she still is exactly the woman she always was, but then the story ends and she returns to observing the action around her with a quiet confusion that verges on being pure disinterest.  It is in these moments that we all realize she isn't herself anymore.  I imagine what it would be like to be in her place and all I can think is that she must feel like she is in a constant state of deja vu.  Recognizing a familiarity in everything, but not quite knowing why.

Even though these visits with her feel uncomfortable, awkward and sad I know that each one is very worthwhile.  Engaging her in conversation and treasuring each story she is able to share is worth each moment of loss I feel for the sarcastic, witty, and quick-tongued grandmother that I remember.  A tribute to all Grandmothers, all Grandparents, who with strict words or playful hands show their grandchildren love:  You are appreciated!