My grandmother is a woman of tremendous faith. She raised her Catholic family of seven - two girls and five rowdy trouble makers - in a close nit Midwest community. She loved my grandfather deeply and life was never really quite the same after he was gone. His sense of humor kept her smiling even when she was hotter than a hornet.
Together, they were always surrounded by family, friends, religion and goodwill. She never missed mass. She made fabulous homemade pies. She was experienced in cooking for an army and her timing was perfect. She enjoyed golfing, card games and the holidays.
I remember her house was always decorated to the tee for Christmas. Figurines of angels and Santa's perched on every surface. A fully flocked tree, beautifully lit, guarded treasures below.
She liked mauve/pink - a lot! Carpet, bed spread, wall paper, even a few of those flocked holiday trees.
These are the things I remember of my grandmother.
It's not a lot.
It is just what I remember from our annual family vacations surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins.
As a child, I never thought to ask more.
As a teenager, I never had the time.
And now, well, now the window is slipping away.
My grandmother has Alzheimer's.
In the last few years, I have watched her step farther and farther into the background, quietly reluctant to engage in hours of story telling and conversation.
Each week, my dad fills me in on the latest thing she has done or said as the effects of this disease slowly claim her wit and reason. Some are humorous, but all are heartbreaking.
In the last year, progression has been fleeting. She has had to leave her home and now requires 24 hour assistance in a memory care unit. She is lucky to have a few personal possessions with her, but by the end of the month her home will be making someone else's memories.
I was eager to visit my grandmother this week - fearful she would not recognize the granddaughter before her.
Silence speaks a thousand words. Her eyes recognized the face but her mind kept her searching for the name. I was okay with that, as long as she knew my eyes.
She was delighted to see her great-grandchildren. She knew they were hers. She held on tight to Mr Blue Eyes and laughed as our Brown Eyed Girl put on her best performance of singing and 'Dancing with the Stars.' She chimed in for a round of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' and her smile spread wide across her face.
As the time slipped by I almost forgot where we were.
As our concert echoed the halls, a curious neighbor walked in to my grandmother's room. In just a short visit, we were reminded who walked these halls daily. The woman told us several times she came from a large family, a family of fourteen. We were introduced - twice in less than two minutes. Yet, she was happy, pleasant and content with the moment.
After the woman left, I could not help but look at my grandmother. Slowly but surely that would be her reality.
My heart was sad.
We met her later in the week for lunch and enjoyed the evening together at my step-brother's wedding. She never called us by name, engaged in intricate conversations but she remembered our faces and soaked in our company with all the love of a grandmother.
She whispered to Mr Blue Eyes, while the music played and the wedding guests celebrated, "I remembered you came to visit me this week. I remembered you!"
