grandpa roy, with love.
They say his brain is being eaten by “tangles.” What it really looks like is an orange rotted right through. My grandpa’s brain is shriveling.
He sees me through his Alzheimer-glazed eyes, and i see him right back through those same Alzheimer eyes. I am sick too. I can’t remember my Grandpa–the way he was before he stopped remembering how to read and paint, or what day it is, or who the president is.
Some days I am seventeen. Some days I am my mother’s ghost. Some days I am unknown.
He returned to me today, in full, for brief. minutes or seconds or hours I do not know, but I know I was so caught up in the feeling—the old, good feeling—of being held by my grandpa. The monsters are gone now, and awareness of my own unknowing as I listen to him tell me about the war, the farm he grew up on, faces of people I know only through a few tattered photos—Ray and Carl. I don’t even know how to spell their names.
i forgot what it felt like to love my grandpa.
Not the patient with the shriveled brain, but
Grandpa Roy.
The man. The painter, the poet, the picture-maker, the porch-sitter. The “didn’t learn a damn
thing in church” “rusty-ann” “”brat dog” “i reckon so” patriarch of the Dudley clan.
The man who wrote me beautiful hand-written letters
of counsel and good wisdom
when the 18-year-old me hurt something
awful.
The man who sat real quiet in his
kitchen chair and
cracked jokes and
held his girls. He wore flannel and high-wasted pants and had big eyeglasses.
He opened his presents with a pocket-knife.
His glazed, blue eyes–clear up now–as he cries out, “I’m anxious to hold you.” I close my eyes. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel the intent gaze. Not the glaze, but the knowing, piercing, cognizant look. I am beheld with love, seen through the eyes of love. Love: the real vision that transcends the physicality and death of it all.
(impressions from my last visit to the nursing home. he’s doing well—he told mom that he’s “making music” with all of his friends at the new home). written on may 13, 2010.
Courtney,
My grandma passed away in January 2009 after a decade or so suffering from Alzheimer’s. I remember being a young teenager, the first time she called me by the wrong name and was genuinely confused about who I was. I walked into the other room and cried so no one could see me. It was so hard watching her personality change and the sweet, wonderful grandmother that she was melt away. It was even harder watching how it affected my mother, who tried to care for her as best she could. My mom would rub grandma’s feet and grind up her favorite foods in the blender so she could eat them.
It’s really special that you are so loving and have taken these photos. I had a hard time taking photos of my grandma, but I wish I had taken more. Alzheimer’s is a really hard disease to see a loved one suffer through, but it looks like your family is very supportive and your grandfather is lucky to have people that love him like you do.
Best wishes,
Jenny
Simply amazing, moving, beautiful. I’m glad Eric pointed me to your blog (yep, I’m his Dad).
D.
wow, you right well… your patience and understanding is most amazing, keep inspiring the world. Sandile, KZN & Cape Town