Ma, I miss you

Dear Alzheimer's:

Please return my grandmother. You've borrowed her long enough (too long!) and I want her back. I realize this is selfish on my part, but I truly believe she - the real Ma - is in there. I know this to be true because I see glimpses of her. An expression washes over her face, a note of familiarity on her part, then just as soon fades. Please release her from your custody. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Jen Matheson, Granddaugher


Today's visit.

Always a neatnik, she brushed crumbs off of herself today and adjusted a chair into place. As usual, she noted that my hand is cold (it was). Some things never change! We spoke briefly about something in particular, though I have no idea what we discussed. She said a word or three that made no sense, but we both just nodded and agreed as if it were clear. I know at that moment we connected over the few words.

That was it. The rest of the visit was worse than usual. The decline is obvious. It saddens me to see her like this when I know she can't express herself the way she'd like. I speak and I can see that she has tremendous difficulty engaging in conversation and understanding what I am saying.

She is in pain. Her neck aches because her morning Tylenol was losing steam by afternoon.

What startled me the most was to see her reaction when I gently covered her shoulders with a jacket when she was cold. She was clearly uncomfortable, didn't know who I was, and actually looked frightened. After finding Ma's nurse to help me interact with her (how is it that I need help interacting with my grandmother??), she calmed a bit then got tired so the three of us brought her to bed. Sue pulled up one side of the bed railing so Ma couldn't roll back and left the room. I said "I love you lots" and leaned in to kiss her forehead at which point she freaked and growled "get away from me". "Ok" was all I could say.

Since I'd promised myself that I could cry later if necessary (just not while I was with her), it was all I could do as I scurried down the hall not to cry. I barely lifted my fingers to Sue in parting, afraid to open my mouth for fear that doing so would release the tears. But they started streaming down my cheeks when I reached the alarmed door. Thankfully, someone called out "Jen, the code is..." and I barreled out of there.

This isn't fair, for either of us.