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A quote: “So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.” ~~ Helen Keller
I’ll start with a story …
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She looks back, “You don’t want to go to school today, do you, honey?”
I nod, tears spilling.
She drives past the school.
Our shoes in the car, her capris rolled-up and the day is filled with sand castles, wading in the surf, laughter and moments when I spill my guts as only a 9-year-old can.
Growing up wasn’t easy, yet that’s the day I remember sitting here while she stares off, picking at her clothes.
One day I sneak her out, take off her shoes, roll up her slacks and we splash in the surf.
I find mom again.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
I still remember when Grandma was beginning the slip-slide into dementia, how much effort we expended in trying to keep her anchored in the here-and-now. The huge calendar with each day marked off, the “memory book” with the information on each of her family members, including the notation in capital letters that Grandpa and several of her siblings were DECEASED.
How things have changed since then. As my mother-in-law is beginning that same journey, we’ve been told not to argue with her or try to straighten her out when she gets confused about past and present. As long as she’s not putting herself in danger, let her drift unanchored in space and time. Play along with her when she remembers the old showerhouse that used to stand here, just beyond the beach that has long since eroded away. Ask her about the paddleboats, the miniature golf course, the tiny midway with its carousel that my sister-in-law would ride again and again, the tiny roller-coaster that my husband couldn’t wait to get tall enough to ride.
Sometimes I can almost see the park in all its glory of those bygone days, back when Labor Day meant the whole park was filled with family reunions, with the shouts of children playing with cousins they might not see again for another year.
Dupin says: Why did I do that?
Easy answer, of course. I’d just had the training. When Nana choked on that hotdog, I did the Heimlich Maneuver before I even thought. I’m the executor of her will, and the main inheritor of her trust.
I was even happy I’d saved her. It didn’t dawn on me until now what could’ve happened if I simply had done nothing.
She had one of those defibrillator pacemakers. She could live for decades.
Why was I even thinking this way? It’s three in the morning. I just want to sleep.
Could I have watched her die?
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