A Developed Stranger

We can think it, dream it or say it but the experience above all else makes it real. We can think he is fine. We can dream of a miracle to make him better. We can say it will all be OK. But the experience tells us all differently.

I went to visit a man who did not know who I was. Correction: he used to know who I was but does not any more. A person begins to forget when diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Slowly but surely they begin to forget any memories they have, which only progresses into forgetting how to drink out of a cup. And somewhere in between he forgot about me.

Grandpa Sitting

The three-hour train ride to Albany was fairly easy. I did my best to describe the situation to Omar. But once again words cannot always substitute for the feelings that come into play. When we arrived my grandma was already waiting. Even though it hasn't been that long i was excited to her. When she asked me I told her I was good. Omar said the same. When I asked her how she was I was not given the same standard response. In all her honesty she was not good, and that's what she said to me. But this wasn't a conversation that could be held in the car and so we talked of ordinary things.

We arrived at the house, covered in snow but looking the same. Together we walked in. My grandpa greeting us and gave my grandma a kiss. I approached him and introduced Omar. They shook hands and became acquaintances. Then my grandpa expected me to do the same. "HI....." he said waiting for me to fill in the blank. Arden? I responded with high hopes that I would ring some kind of bell with my name. All I received in response was blank spare. Ouch. Not wanting to dwell on the matter I made my way into the other room. My two brothers both asleep, explained the silence. But what’s the explanation for the strange lady sitting in the living room? My grandma stepped in and introduced her neighbor, Rose. And what exactly was she doing in the house at this hour of the night? My grandma went on to explain that Rose was over to facilitate. No one trusted my grandpa alone, nor should they, and therefore my grandma asked Rose to come over.

A lost Identitiy

The next day we all woke up, at our own time with pancakes cooking in the kitchen. Grandpa was shoving snow. My brothers were watching cartoons. My sister was reading. I sat in the kitchen helping my grandma make breakfast. Initially we talked about my college endeavor. We went on to discuss the other things I find myself struggling with. My grandma spoke, relating both my story and hers. She told me that there are "Something’s we can only control up to a certain point. After that we can chose have to feel about it, and how to deal with it." I dared myself to ask her about grandpa. In the long silence that followed I thought I said something wrong. She held back her tears and will hesitation began to describe her situation. The experience my grandma is going through is far more than she could have ever prepared for.

Last week she forced herself to take away my grandpa wallet. After losing it and all it contained twice she couldn’t afford to have it happen again. My grandpa naturally frustrated started yelling and screaming at her. Only later to forget the entire incident. My grandpa deprived of any power he had feels frustrated. My grandma is doing the best she can to cope with what’s happening, but "he forgets, but I don’t. I’m still upset and he doesn’t know why."

3....2....1...

Later that day, we witnessed the freak out she had pervious described. One thing about my grandpa is that he always loves to be doing something. Making improvements on the house, or cleaning up, or reorganizing that’s what he does. Today, while going through some papers he found a family picture. He wanted to see his sons and daughters. He missed them. And so he went a desperate search for the car keys. His mind was set on driving to see them. What he failed to remember was that he couldn’t drive. There was no use in trying to find the purposely hidden car keys. My grandma did her best to explain to him that he was incapable of driving. He could not have the keys, he could go anywhere. She explained it calmly to him, and at the same time explained it to herself. Saying it, hearing it all out load forced her to accept the fact. My grandpa unable to comprehend gripped the picture in his hands. The tighter he gripped the harder he tried to accept what was happening. He began to cry. With each of his tears more process was made.

The disease is slowly taking over my grandpa. It hard for him and its hard for us. It’s a challenge for anyone to watch a loved one more progressive ill. It’s the hardest for My grandma who hasn’t lost hope yet, but has no way to prepare for what’s ahead "I dread the day he forgets about me." I wonder, but have never asked what’s going to happen afterwards. His mind becoming less knowledgeable, less capably kept in the body of an old man. Reminds me of the curious case of Benjamin button, a man who grows to be younger. The character goes from walking, to crawling. Soon he knows nothing. My grandpa plays the real life role.