Meet Me At The Crossroads

“I’m going to tell her anyway.”

“I don’t see the point, she’s not going to know what you’re saying.”

“That’s what y’all think. Y’all treat her like...like…” I let out a huge grunt of frustration because there’s so many different directions I could go on how they treat Grandma, but I know my concerns fall on deaf ears. Literally. My paternal grandmother’s side of the family has a hearing loss problem as they age and as a result there are many medical problems, including Alzheimer's. When your brain no longer hears the daily sounds it used to, your mind can slowly go crazy. This is exactly what is happening to my grandmother. I did not treat her any differently than I would have pre-Alzheimer, but others have been. I hate it.

“...treat her like she doesn’t understand anything anymore.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She does!”

I talk to my dad everyday and this particular phone conversation has become frustrating. We are trying to arrange a visit to her house this weekend and I mentioned I was going to tell her I am pregnant. This is my first baby and my grandmother was a second mother to me, telling her is important to me.

“If you want to go ahead, but I don’t think it will make any difference.”

“It makes a difference to me.”

My dad goes to his parents house every weekend to help around the house and care for my grandmother; about once a month I go with him. Growing up, I was always at my grandmother’s house. She lived in Brooklyn in the same house for almost 60 years and it made me think she would never leave. Her home was always warm with something cooking that smelled like gravy...or sauce. A common debate among Italian households is calling it gravy or sauce, for pasta, of course. She had a beige rotary phone hanging on the kitchen wall with a wire that can reach from room to room that caused some troublesome entanglements. The round table in the kitchen where I did my homework faced long, rectangular windows looking outside to the yard where there was a fig tree and vegetable garden. I loved being there and she loved having me. She frequently told me growing up that when I hit a certain age I would forget about her and our relationship would change. I never believed her. Why would that happen? It did happen, but before that something else happened first. My grandparents bought a house in Jersey when I was about eight years old. It took two years for the house to be built, paperwork finalized, and move in. At 10 years old, they no longer lived a few blocks from me.

I missed being able to walk to their house, but I would go stay at their new house every opportunity I got-weekends off, school vacations, and during summer. I loved their new home, new community, and the small getaway from our cramped Brooklyn apartment. Then I became a teenager and got a teenage boyfriend. That’s where the visits started to decrease. Visits turned into phone calls that turned into Christmas visits once a year. I think that even stopped for a while. This was mainly because of the very controlling relationship I was in. Once I got out of that relationship at the age of 21, I began to slowly reconnect with family members I used to often socialize with including Grandma. By this time the year was 2007 and her hearing loss was bad. You had to talk slow enough so she could read your lips. If she wasn’t directly looking at you, you could guarantee she did not hear you. No matter what, she was always involved, at the table, in the conversation and made sure she knew everything that was said and going on around her. This made it frustrating and hard for others to converse with her, I actually found it fun and my jokes often made her laugh. I loved being back in her presence, but the regret of the time lost would lurk in my shadows.

Now I was 28, expecting my first child, and Grandma’s mind, half the time, was in a different era. She would often shout for her “Poppa” and refer to the children in the house even though there weren’t any. Some made comments since she sat in her chair so long she began to think the pictures framed around of her grandchildren and great grandchildren were actual children living in her house. I say, ‘So what? At least her mind is active.’

Her mind sometimes made her think she was younger living back in Brooklyn and when she wanted help she would shout for her Dad. Some people thought it wild and crazy and I found it natural for the disease she had. Looking back at it now, it was all ignorance on their part because they did not know or understand what Alzheimer's really was and this was something they would not partially understand until after her passing. They found her outbursts obnoxious and intrusive and made it known. They questioned her presence at functions due to the possibility of “embarrassment”. I cared for none of this. My grandmother was the glue that held this part of the family together and she worked laboriously to keep this family going, I would never treat her any differently than before.

We arrive at Grandma’s house and as soon as we open the front door,

“POPPPAAA!!!! POPPPPAAA!!!”

I take my shoes off and head over to the den where she sits to say hello. She is in the same pink top and black pants. Her hair has not been done in quite some time, meanwhile she used to frequent the salon every two weeks up until the Alzheimer's stopped her. I smell the old lady, urine aroma as I get closer, but I never make a face or make her feel uncomfortable. I kiss her cheek and hug her tight. I can still smell that smell four years later every time I see her empty chair.

“Hi Grandma.” She looks at me and smiles. She always recognizes me even though she may not remember my name and others claim she doesn’t. They feel like she never knows what is going on, I know she does. I see it in her eyes; the fight to stay sane and present in time, in the moment with us.

“Hi!! How are you?” She says while sitting straight up.

“I’m good, how are you?” I talk slowly and enunciate each word so she can read my lips.

“I’m hungry. Did you eat? Grandpa will get us something. POP!!!!!”

She doesn’t notice the belly.

“Why the heck are you screaming again?! What happened?” My Grandfather comes trotting along. I don’t think she heard him, but his presence makes her speak,

“She’s hungry…”

“I can wait, Grandpa. I really think she’s hungry.” I point to Grandma using my mouth.

“She just ate some bruschetta. She’s always hungry.” He saves waving his hands up while I kiss him hello. He keeps walking to greet my dad.

“Grandma, you want more bruschetta?” I ask, pointing to the ingredients I notice on the counter. She shakes her head yes. I give her a plate and sit next to her watching Golden Girls as she eats. I stare at her watching her chew and mumble to Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose as if they were in the room with her. This is her day; sitting in this floral recliner watching Golden Girls, then at night some Wheel of Fortune then bedtime. She gets up for the bathroom, to sleep, and occasionally an appointment. When I come over, it motivates her to move and I walk her around the house. She has finished eating and as I work up the courage to tell her, the sound of my heartbeat overpowers my thoughts.

“Grandma I’m pregnant” I say out loud knowing she can’t hear me, but testing the waters. She does not flinch. It was the perfect ice breaker; it would be so much easier saying it a second time. I get up and walk in front of her, she smiles. I sit on the arm of her recliner and look directly at her,

“I’m having a baby,” she pops up,

“What?”

I point to my belly, “Baby”.

Her eyes widened as she looked from my belly to my eyes, “Are you happy?”

This question surprisingly strikes me. It was unexpected, but then again, what did I expect?

“Yes. Yes I am.” I nod as I say this.

“Then that’s all that matters.” She sits back and continues with The Golden Girls. After a few minutes of silence, she pops back up to ask me,

“Are you going to school?”

“I finished school.”

“You got a job?”

“Yes.”

“You got a boyfriend?”

I point to my belly.

“Holy shit, you’re fat.”

I burst out laughing and almost pee myself from laughter. I make a baby rocking notion with my arms,

“Are you happy?”

“Yes”.

My daughter was born September 20, 2015 and I bring her to see Grandma on October 24th, 2015.

“Who’s baby is that?!” Grandma shouts as I stand there holding the car seat smiling,

“Mine Grandma. Remember I was pregnant?”

“Oh I just thought you got fat.” I laugh,

“I did get fat, now the fat is in the car seat.” She laughed whether she heard me or not, she still laughed.

Watching Grandma around my baby was heartfelt and enlightening. I could see her motherly instinct fighting through. Sitting on the couch with her as I was holding the baby, the baby jerked suddenly and Grandma shot up reflexively thinking the baby was going to fall off the couch. A sudden movement most would assume impossible for state.

“Watch!! You almost dropped her!” She screamed at me. Watch her head!” I chuckle, “Did you feed her? I haven’t seen you give that baby a bottle the whole weekend.”

“I’ve only been here 2 hours.” She gives me a dirty look.

“You work tomorrow?”

“No, I’m off.”

“Good”

“POPPPPAAAA!!”

One year later, Grandma is in hospice. Her health and hearing deteriorated to a point where it was difficult for Grandpa and my Dad to take care of her in the house. They say she probably doesn't hear anything, but that is because they stopped putting in her hearing aids. She spoke a few words and her throat always seemed dry. She always smiled when she saw me. My sister and I would play cards around her, bring her food, and wheel her around the center. She no longer walked. Some people looked at my Grandma and saw a sick, weak woman, I looked at my Grandma and saw a woman filled with strength, fighting everyday to stay present. That was courageous and strong of her. This was an active woman who traveled, exercised, cooked every night, played cards, read books, kept up her family, and created memories and values to last lifetimes. There was no way Alzheimer's took all that from her, she may have forgotten, but her body and subconscious did not. She still tried to downplay her sickness when other's was around.

Many people had negative feedback knowing I bring my toddler with me to hospice,

“That is no place for a child.”

“Those are sick people.”

“She’s allowed there?”

First off, no one in hospice has anything contagious. Secondly, there was never a doubt in my mind that my daughter did not belong there. The smiles and happiness she brought to people that haven’t smiled in a long time or had visitors was priceless and unforgettable. The whole place started looking forward to the visits from our family. My one and a half year old would conduct sing-a-longs, dance parties, and was sharing her dolls and toys. These are people that others feared to go next to or even touch, excommunicated to a place where the end result is only one thing. The saddest part is half of their kin actually believe they have no idea where they are or do not understand what is going on. Maybe for a select few that may be true, but for the majority, they are very much aware of the situation they are in. My daughter brought them back to life once a month for the next eight months. My grandmother was no different.

Diminished to a wheelchair, I still felt her matriarch strength when I was around her. She would sit herself up straight and try to stay alert especially towards the baby. Her questions towards me were always the same too, “You working? Going to school? Married? Working tomorrow? Did you eat?” This made me recognize a very important characteristic of my Grandmother: her love and care for her family were in the roots and stems of her brain. She forgot names, places, time, events, but she never forgot to ask how you were doing, if you’re staying responsible and taking care of yourself. My Grandmother was filled with so much love that it could never be taken away from her; old age and disease took her physically, and mentally, but never her spirit. She taught me the most important lessons of my life during the last moments of hers.

The last visit my daughter, sister, Dad and I had at hospice was a beautiful summer day in July 2017. As usual the first thing we do is feed Grandma. A couple weeks prior she was diagnosed with colon cancer and we were told eating was painful for her so all she could have was soup. She attempted a smile here and there and would lean forward to eat, but I could see the pain and fight in her eyes. I cup her face and smile to let her know I love her since the words are all choked up in my throat. I get up quickly so she doesn’t see my tears and take her outside.

We sit in the front surrounded by grass, flower bushes, trees, and sun. My daughter loves being outside so she is running circles around us. She is very interactive with my Grandma stopping to babble to her and point to random things. She runs off towards the grass and flowers and begins to pick them.

“STTOOPPPPPPPP!!”

A sudden roar comes from my grandmother that freezes us all in place.

“No picking flowers!” My grandmother sits back in her wheelchair and shoots me a dirty look. My sister and I laugh. This laughter was that of surprise, love, and happiness. Nobody could tell me my grandmother was unaware or lost in her brain, she was actively fighting against several diseases in her body and was doing a good job at that! She hadn’t spoken in weeks and yet my toddler made her momma bear come roaring out. There is nothing stronger than a mother’s love, not even Alzheimer's or colon cancer. I will never forget this last encounter with my Grandmother as two weeks later she passed away. Expected death still hurts. Arrangements were prepared, but emotions were not. How could they be?

After the funeral, we went back to her house with Grandpa and my Dad to go through photo albums. Photo albums that my Grandmother made, labeled with the year and occasions. Each grandchild had their own photo book and it started from when we were born until we were older. She captured all of our moments and organized them for us for this exact moment. She was a special woman. She lived for her family and everything she did was for us. She always wanted the best for us, the best education, the best life, the best experiences, and she gave us the best of it all, the best grandmother.

Four years later and my Grandmother is still giving. She had clothes aside for us, she kept pictures that I made her when I was six, and she invested in us. She taught me long term goals and successes. She taught me not only to build for my future, but for my future generations. She taught me that love conquers all and could never be taken away from you. She taught me that Alzheimer's may make you forget names and places, but it will never make you forget how you feel or who you truly are. If anything, it exposes the true you, it takes away all the memory of who you created yourself to be and leaves you with who you truly are.