I want my Grandma back!

I went down to Mesa to take Rosie to meet my Grandma. I asked Patti, Grandma's caretaker, if we could sit outside since Gracie and Brian were with me, and they pose a serious hazard to anybody's house that is not also inhabited by a 2 year old. Brian and Grace frolicked on the lawn while Grandma and I sat on the porch and enjoyed the glorious AZ spring. Conversation, as it has been for a long time now, was strained. "How are you, Grams?" I would ask. She would answer that she was either doing well, or not so good because she doesn't like where she lives. It depended on the moment. After a long silence, she might ask, "Well, what do you know?" but this usually only happened on her better days. For lack of anything better to say, I'd comment on the weather, then proceed to give her an update on all her children and grandchildren, just as everybody else who had recently visited Grandma had done. On really good days, something might focus Grandma's attention for a bit and she would get excited about somebody's wedding or upcoming baby or serious illness. Every time we told her that my sister was expecting twins, she would get so excited. That was 3 1/2 years ago, though.

I hadn't been to visit Grams for quite a few weeks and, since she didn't say my name, she probably didn't know who I was. She reacted mildly pleased about Rosie. The only highlight of the visit was when Grandma leaned in close to Rosie's face, announced that she couldn't see her, and scooped her out of my arms. Grandma held her and absently rocked and patted her. Rosie snuggled in (Grandma's and Great Grandma's are typically very comfortable) and hummed her contentment with little baby snores. Grandma couldn't hear her.

My real Grandma would have scooped her out of my arms straight away and exclaimed her an absolute beauty. My real Grandma would have unwrapped her to oo and ah over sweet baby toes and slender fingers. She would have wondered over all of Rosie's features, trying to decide who she looked like. (She used to say that Gracie looked like the milk man because she's such a unique mix of Mark and I, but that was nearly six years ago.) Grandma would have been horrified to have the baby outside in all that wind and fresh air lest she get colic. My real Grandma would have looked beautiful in her full make-up, with her hair freshly styled at the beauty parlor. (Grandma was a beautiful, fixy woman who once remarked how scandalous it was that a cousin of mine wore jeans so often!) Best of all, my Grandma would have had a huge meal whipped up in no time, and would have been plying my kids with those multi-colored marshmallows and filled wafer cookie things.

My Grandma has dementia. It is a nasty, cruel disease that slowly steals away your loved ones and leaves behind only a painful reminder, and rare tiny glimpses of who they once were. The only glimmer of hope is the comforting thought of the resurrection. I guess that's one reason why I love celebrating Easter so much. I want my Grandma back!