Why I Walk

"Cancer was harder than I could ever have imagined," I said to Grandma as she drove me to her house from the train station.  We lost Grandpa to colon cancer several years ago.  It's been long enough that we can talk about him without crying.  Barely.  

"Cancer was heartbreaking and horrible, but nothing scares me more than Alzheimer's," I continued.  "It's selfish and ridiculous, but I'm terrified of losing my loved ones while they are still alive.  At least Grandpa still knew us.  He was still the incredible man we knew and loved, right up to the day he died."

Grandma didn't respond right away.  She had a thoughtful look about her as she reached over and patted my hand without taking her eyes off the road.  When she's quiet like this, I wonder where her thoughts have gone.  Is she remembering the day she met Grandpa, or the day she lost him?  Is she remember the years of sharing life and laughter, or the years of caring for him while he faded away?

Her voice was calm and measured when she finally spoke.  I only remember a few words. 

Memory problems.  

Doctor.  

Mini-strokes.  

Damage.  

Vascular dementia.  

Alzheimer's.  

She wrapped her fingers through mine and held my hand as she drove.  Everything is going to be fine.  I'm here.

                      

Grandma stood next to me in my parent's living room as I hugged my Grandmother for the first time in a few years.  Grandmother smiled and spoke in a friendly tone, but the embrace was not warm.  Grandma and I are very close.  Grandmother and I are not.  

As we filed in to the kitchen to serve up the buffet lunch my father had so carefully prepared, Grandmother turned to Grandma and asked, "Who is that pretty girl you brought with you?"  The whole family was silent, but they let me pretend I did not hear.  They gave me my moment to swallow, sideways, the fact that my Grandmother no longer recognized me.  I filled my plate and headed to the dining room as Grandma replied, "That's your granddaughter."

"It is?!?!  I haven't seen her in so long!  She's so beautiful!"  

Grandmother said my name.  She knew who I was...for a moment.  I stared at my plate and listened to my father talk to her as he served her lunch and led her to the dining room.  No one else spoke. 

She stood behind her chair, slowly turning an apron around in her hands and staring at it as if trying to unlock the great secrets it held.  My mother arrived quickly at her side to help put on the apron, pull out the chair, sit down, and open the napkin.  As my Grandmother sat down across from me, she smiled politely, but did not speak to me.  Whatever memory she had of me a moment ago, it was already gone.

Grandma wrapped her fingers through mine while the rest of the family ate their lunch.  Everything is going to be fine.  I'm here.

                      

I walk for my Grandmother, who can no longer care for herself physically or financially.  I walk for my Grandma, so we can have even a few extra moments together.  I walk for my parents, who need education, assistance, and support while they care for their mothers.  I walk for myself, so I remember them all.

Alzheimer's Association Walk to End Alzheimer's