You don't know me. You can't remember my name from moment to moment. You don't know that I'm your granddaughter. I am not offended. It comes with the territory. Our conversations make endless loops of the same topics. Bringing up new conversation topics doesn't work, you change the subject quickly. You focus on three very pivotal parts of your life and I hear of them frequently. Asking you questions opens a door a little further into that mind of yours but not far. So, we keep it easy. The date, the weather, the car I drive, the occupation of my father, and the church I attend. Which you always comment to how quickly time passes, winter is coming, I should service it completely to keep it in working order, who exactly my father is, and great concern that my church doesn't have a "baptist" in the title.
I watch you piddle your days away. Your fingers are constantly looking for something to play with. A puzzle, a trinket, something, anything for you to figure out...or not. You drink sometimes four cups of coffee because the coffee on your breath isn't enough of a reminder that you finished one just ten to fifteen minutes ago.
You pace the square feet your confined to because I think the outside frightens you. Our walks are short. You never want to go more than two or three houses down. Tonight we didn't even make it the entire way. I watch you become overwhelmed quickly with any outing. Mamaw's walker, the car we are riding in, where we are going, why we are going there, keeping up with what we do, get, buy, or not. It's all a concern to you. You become preoccupied with details and you are easily frustrated by the fact that you can't remember. And then you admit it, and that's hard.
Grandpa, you married a good woman. A true woman of virtue. Undeniably. Sure she's frustrated sometimes, not sure what saint wouldn't be. But she handles it with such grace and beauty. She knows what you like in your coffee, what medication you take...and when, what kind of chicken you like, etc. For crying out loud she knows what part of the chicken makes you happy. Oh to know someone like the two of you know each other, my heart simply can't wait. You define the meaning of "in sickness and in health." You tell me frequently that you've "been married some fifty years now." Since you don't know who I am I don't have the heart to tell you it's been sixty plus. What a testimony.
I can recite your prayer, word for word, but I don't want you to change it. Yet, you become confused in the middle of your prayers recently. Sometimes you don't know where you are or what parts you've said and a mix of jumbled words and sounds later you say,"Amen."
I can pretty much tell you everything you're going to do and say from the moment my shift begins until it ends. I can premeditatedly answer all your questions but I won't.
If I leave anything out I can be sure it will be messed with or missing. Still figuring this one out. Like a puppy chewing my favorite shoes I've had to search for my keys, phone, favorite pens, and calendar. Luckily you haven't taken them far.
You are mesmerized by my computer and phone.
Anytime you don't know about something you tell me your "memory pattern skips around so much." I think it comforts you.
I watch you sleep frequently and that frightens me. You're 91 but I fear when you start acting your age. Not that I have a thing to be afraid of. You are one of the reasons I know the character of Jesus in His people. Your nickname, the energizer bunny, just has to prove true, right? I still want to introduce my husband to you and I want my babies to know you. I know you won't know and it won't make a mess of difference...but it will to me.
I hate seeing the mess of this world affect you. Sin caused this wretched disease. However, it is always a treat to be greeted as if it were the first time when you walk down the hall and see me...after I've been there for six hours. Everything is a novelty to you. The clouds in the sky, the trash on the road, any road sign...any of them.
You've taught me a lot in my twenty-six years but you've taught me more in the last six weeks and I'm sure more in the next six.
I know that there is no progress with this ridiculous condition. Ok. Fine. Whatever. But the brief moments, where you connect who I might be, are a treasure. I don't know what the rest of this will look like. I couldn't have even come up with what the past weeks contained. I know it will be an adventure. I know we'll never talk more in depth about things than we do already. I know there will never be talking you out of or changing your mind on anything. I know what my days will look like. That's ok.
I am ok with all of it because it's moments I'll never replicate or be able to make over.
Love,
Your granddaughter
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