Where Do You Think You’re Going, Girl?

Girl, where do you think you’re going? Where do you think you’re going, going, girl?

-Lady Gaga, Joanne 

I watched the sun rise this morning, like so many other mornings in this house. The Florida sky has a way of delighting the eye with orange and pink and gold, nearly any time of year. I watch the fog slip away, and the birds make their call as the neighborhood wakes up. By 9, I can venture over to Grandma’s Rehab Center. 

Lately, these visits put precious punctuation into my day. It makes the work hours longer; it forces me to be more creative with my time – but there’s no other way to go about it. My grandmother is a pillar in my life, always has been, and I’m slowly watching her succumb to illness – something my young, naive mind never truly imagined would happen.

Grandma has Alzheimer’s. She was diagnosed with dementia a couple of years ago, after her usually flighty mind started causing my grandfather and mother extra concern. She was misplacing (or hiding) mail, forgetting details, and losing her purse. The disease has progressed rapidly, especially in the last few months. I’m no stranger to dementia; I volunteered over 200 hours of my time in high school and college caring for affected seniors, and helping them write photo-poetry.

For the last 700-800 days, I’ve explained symptoms to my mom, let her know why some things may be happening. What I didn’t realize is that at some point, my life experience would run out and hers would kick in. While I was assuming, grasping, clinging to the fact that my grandma’s not that bad, what I was really doing was trying to block out an inevitable process that I knew in my heart was anything but pretty.

We all get punched in the gut by life. At some point, we’re all caught off guard, and the Universe teaches us lessons we never thought we’d have to learn. And here we are, dealing with one of the most heartbreaking illnesses to man, in our family.

Grandma was born in 1938; if dementia has run in our family, no one’s lived long enough to experience it. We’re a German, Irish, Scottish, and Italian family, originally from Western New York, with a linear predisposition for heart attacks, high blood pressure, and cancer. My grandmother’s parents died of heart ailments; so did her brother. She’s never been afflicted by anything of the sort. She does have memory issues, diabetes, asthma, and a large degree of weakness, mostly from not keeping herself strong in her 70’s.

Unfortunately, she caught bronchitis from my 4-year-old nephew a couple of weeks ago. She was in such rough shape, care became a 24/7 challenge, and she even began to fall. Confused, ill, and not taking any fluids, my mom took her to the hospital 11 days ago. She was in the hospital through Thanksgiving, ripping out IVs, losing consciousness, yelling out loud.

I’ve spent thousands of wonderful days with Grandma. I saw her at the end of October, when we celebrated her birthday. She thanked me for her soft, furry blanket. She asked me how work was going, and how my cats were. I had no reason to believe anything would change. Honestly, every part of me didn’t want to believe anything but that everything would be OK.

Just keep living, and everything will be fine. I’ve never blocked anything out like this in my life. Yes, I see her at least once a month now, every month, but today, it doesn’t seem like enough. This was the woman that told me I was special when no one else would. She’s propped up my sister and I when our mother made us feel like nothing, and she’s taken the time over the years to teach us arts and crafts, go shopping with us, and have a laugh with a great bite to eat at frequent breakfasts and lunches.

All of that seems to be fading away quickly. I can’t even believe it. I am in shock. On October 30, I saw Gram smiling and joking. On Thanksgiving, I watched her fall in and out of sleep, and chat to her dead relatives about days of old with her eyes closed.

I watched her take in oxygen, feel uncomfortable. And there was nothing I could do. I like to fix. I like to make things better. And I’m helpless.

She was transferred to a rehab facility on Monday evening, after she was medically stable. I last saw her on Tuesday. The facility is nice, but she was sleepy and frustrated – but never at me. My aunt, a nurse, was in town at the time. I asked her if she thought her mental and physical condition was permanent. She and my mom believe that mentally, this could be the “new normal.” Physically, at this point, we’re hoping she gains her strength back and can just hold on and stay with us longer.

I know her condition isn’t great right now. Some days I feel selfish. She was in a rehab facility a couple of years ago after surgery, and even though that shiny pistol threw a fit about being there, she made it home eventually. This time, I’m not so sure what each day will bring. No one does, and that’s why it’s so scary. I’ve run through the gamut of emotions. Some days, I’m angry at life and the entire world. Other days, I’m bargaining with God for her to stay a bit longer, to just remember me a bit longer, to just stay with me.

Just like that, life changes, and in an instant, your world is transformed. At 28 years old, the “new normal” is honestly terrifying. I can say with full confidence that I’ve never taken advantage of the relationship I have with my grandmother, and that brings me some peace. My sister and nephew and I are the lights of her life. In all these years, I’ve come to realize that she’s the light of my life, too. And I want it to shine, shine, shine. I want her to shine forever.