Grandma’s Alzheimer’s Weighs Heaviest on Family

“Is it time for dinner?”

“Yes, Grandma,” I reply. “Here is your dinner and your pills you need to take.”

“Dinner already? It is only 2 in the afternoon.”

“No, Grandma, it is 6 p.m., and you need to eat your dinner.”

“Where are all the children?”

“We are all right here, Grandma.”

“Well, I will scoot down to the end so the children will have room.”

“No, Grandma, your place is right here, and I wish you would come eat your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, getting up and walking over to the cupboard. She had forgotten that she already had a place set for her at the table, so she began looking through all the cupboards for plates, cups and silverware. She grabbed a fork out of the drawer and began polishing it with her sweat shirt.

There she stood, small and frail, slightly bent over. Her gray roots were just beginning to show under the blond curls. Under her white sweat shirt, I could see the collar of a pink shirt and a blue flowered dress that she had tucked into her pants. She had forgotten to take it off when she realized it wasn’t Sunday.

Her navy polyester pants were snug around her waist and hung almost to the ground. Her feet were squeezed into a pair of tan sandals from the ‘70s, and she had a run in her nylons starting from her big toe. It’s not like we never buy her new clothes. We have many times, but she forgets they are hers and refuses to wear them.

Grandma just stood there polishing her fork, forgetting anyone was even in the room. Her eyes had a look as if she was in another place. I knew her mind was tired of thinking, forgetting and trying to remember again.

Alzheimer’s disease is a difficult thing to deal with, not as much for the person with the disease but more for the people who care about her. It is hard for my dad to see his mom so confused and sometimes bitter and rude. It is also hard for my mom because my grandma is home with her all day long. She follows my mom around, undoing things Mom has just finished doing.

My grandma waits for the mailman to come, then puts important bills in her purse thinking they are hers. She puts dirty dishes in the cupboard, hides our shoes and takes the unfinished laundry out of the dryer and puts it out to dry on tables, chairs or whatever she can find.

One of the saddest days was when my grandma had been wandering around the house all day. Finally she let out a sigh and said, “Nothing to do, there is simply nothing to do.” This was sad because it was true, she really didn’t have anything to do. She is too sick to work, and when she starts a project, she doesn’t finish it because she forgets what she is doing.

The other day my grandma got upset and said she was going back to Arizona. This is where her house is, but she can’t live alone any longer. She had forgotten this and began packing her things. I stood there and watched her as she grabbed her nightgown and laid it out on the bed. Then she took a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants and stuffed them into the nightgown, using it as a duffel bag. She carefully tied a knot at the bottom of the nightgown. It took her total concentration to tie a perfect knot.

I studied her face. I still remember the way it looked, her pale wrinkly skin, bony nose and the small, light sun spot she had on the end of it. Her lips were pressed together in concentration. Her hands were thin, and a few veins showed under the sun-spotted skin.

I wanted to leave because the sight of her working so hard, only to have someone undo what she had done, made me sad. But I decided to stay because I knew she enjoyed my company even though I hadn’t said a single word.

She walked over to the dresser, picked up a magazine and handed it to me. She looked up at me and told me that I could have her magazine since she was sure that the bus back to Arizona would have magazines for her. She began talking about something, I can’t remember what, but it made no sense. I quietly slipped out of the room and could still hear her talking as I walked down the hall.

Thinking back, my grandma was the kindest lady. When I would visit she would always have food prepared and a bed ready for me. She was smart and made good decisions. She raised three children. But she is no longer the person I knew when I was little. I guess I could say that my grandma I used to know is already dead. This is a new person I am getting to know.

As my grandma finished polishing the fork, she walked back to the table with a look of accomplishment. She sat down as if nothing had happened and said, “Oh, is it time for dinner already?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Camille Suman, 17, graduated Wednesday from Fountain Valley High School and will attend Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho, where she will major in graphic design, assisted by a scholarship from the school’s art department. Although she enjoys writing poems and class compositions, she sees her future in art and hopes to one day work for her father, who owns a graphic design firm in Tustin. During high school, she played basketball and track and worked part time at ice cream and candy stores in South Coast Plaza. She lives in Santa Ana with her family, which includes three sisters and two brothers ranging in age from 2 to 20. She credits her English teacher, Chris Baron, with helping her develop her writing.