"Don 't get your hopes up, too high, Jill," my mother cautioned. "I think you 'll see what I mean when you get here."
Perhaps my mother was right, but I couldn 't help boasting. "Wait until I arrive with the children," I bragged, "You know Grandma always seems more "with it" when she sees my kids."
After I hung up the phone I felt my usual frustration move in, the way it had lately when Mom spoke about my grandmother. Months ago, out of necessity, my parents had moved my grandmother in with them after Grandma had poured cooking oil on top of a hot burner. Since I lived out-of-state, Mom had kept me apprised of the situation, but the reports I 'd hear each week made it clear that my grandmother wasn 't getting any better. …show more content…
In my entire life, my grandmother had never raised her voice to me or anyone else. Even as a child if I 'd been naughty, she 'd never reprimanded me. Hurt beyond words, my first instinct was to flee to the safety of my room, close the door and never come out, but as I glanced at my grandmother one last time I stopped. She wore that same confused expression that I 'd seen when I 'd helped her open her present.
Even in her confused state, my grandmother still knew that she and I had always been close. In her eyes, I 'd been her last hope, her staunch supporter, the one she felt she could count on and I 'd let her down. At that moment my world crashed around me as I realized what my family had been dealing with. As the last family member to join the dementia page, I had struggled with accepting that my , brilliant, kind, loving, physically-healthy-as-an-ox grandmother had a disease that couldn 't be fixed. I refused to hear what my parents had told me. At least now my family and I could face the next chapter together. Although that holiday visit was painful, I relished every lucid moment with my grandmother and the moments she had with my children, carefully tucking each sporadic, precious, memory away in my heart forever knowing it might be the
Perhaps my mother was right, but I couldn 't help boasting. "Wait until I arrive with the children," I bragged, "You know Grandma always seems more "with it" when she sees my kids."
After I hung up the phone I felt my usual frustration move in, the way it had lately when Mom spoke about my grandmother. Months ago, out of necessity, my parents had moved my grandmother in with them after Grandma had poured cooking oil on top of a hot burner. Since I lived out-of-state, Mom had kept me apprised of the situation, but the reports I 'd hear each week made it clear that my grandmother wasn 't getting any better. …show more content…
In my entire life, my grandmother had never raised her voice to me or anyone else. Even as a child if I 'd been naughty, she 'd never reprimanded me. Hurt beyond words, my first instinct was to flee to the safety of my room, close the door and never come out, but as I glanced at my grandmother one last time I stopped. She wore that same confused expression that I 'd seen when I 'd helped her open her present.
Even in her confused state, my grandmother still knew that she and I had always been close. In her eyes, I 'd been her last hope, her staunch supporter, the one she felt she could count on and I 'd let her down. At that moment my world crashed around me as I realized what my family had been dealing with. As the last family member to join the dementia page, I had struggled with accepting that my , brilliant, kind, loving, physically-healthy-as-an-ox grandmother had a disease that couldn 't be fixed. I refused to hear what my parents had told me. At least now my family and I could face the next chapter together. Although that holiday visit was painful, I relished every lucid moment with my grandmother and the moments she had with my children, carefully tucking each sporadic, precious, memory away in my heart forever knowing it might be the