On the Other Side of the Wall: Silver Linings

   We all have our struggles. For most of us it is a very real struggle to get up out of our cozy beds early in the morning to start a day that will be full of ordinary stress. We get the kids dressed and off to school, rush to work, deal with coffee spills, snowy weather, wait in the never ending line in the grocery store with a screaming toddler. Life is full of annoyances; fender-bender types of situations that mess up our days, leave us irritated, and make us want to kick the dog, slam the door, and eat three enormous pieces of rich chocolate cake with dark chocolate icing as soon as possible. But we do our best, right? We get out of bed, try to be nice, try to have a good day, And the sun comes out, the traffic is moving along faster, we get our favorite parking spot, the kids actually make their beds without being reminded ten times, the baby takes a long nap, there is a beautiful card in the mailbox from a dear friend. But how do we re-act to a real bump in the road? A life-changing sort of problem that comes up and slams into our lives head on?

   One way of coping with a life altering problem or even the day to day "normal" problems is to look for the silver linings. That's where we find hope and and the good in life's trials. You have a new perspective on what is really important and begin to see how things are actually working out. After hanging in there your faith deepens, your relationships are more meaningful than ever before, in general you have a new perspective on life. However, that fresh view of life's challenges sometimes requires some distance, some time and then we can see how the jagged pieces fit together and the picture comes into focus. The blur from unanswered questions becomes clearer than when it was up close consuming our thoughts. 

   When I look back at that valley of Alzheimer's Disease, frankly, I don't see a beautiful landscape. For the most part I still have questions that won't be answered this side of heaven. However, I do see a few rivers that cut through the valley and keep flowing, carrying meaning into the plains of my life beyond that experience. For me one of those rivers, or silver linings, that I can now see after the space of time is my grandpa. When we started seeing him every week I had the opportunity to get to know my grandfather as more of a person and not just the somewhat feared head of our extended family.
   In many ways Grandpa and I had similar personalities which created a bond between us. Both of us tended to keep our true feelings to ourselves. I knew Grandpa loved me by the way his face lit up when I walked into his house and his enthusiastic almost surprised way of saying "Hi-ya Sarah!". He knew I loved him when he teased me and I teased him back. I wanted to be with him. At the messy dining room table we talked about the history of long-lost family members he had hunted for and discovered on his treks to libraries and cemeteries along the East coast. Next to his cherry wood desk he had a tall green file cabinet that held bulging folders of information on both sides of his and grandma's family tree. One day he pulled out a file and told me about a Hessian soldier named Chester Mack who married into the clan during the Revolutionary War. He even had a certificate with Chester's name on it. Once, when I was cleaning, I found an antique red family photo album held together by masking tape on the binding. Grandpa pointed out his parents to me who posed with serious expressions on their faces despite their youth. For the first time in my life I became acquainted with my great grandparents through the album grandpa had never talked about before. I asked him if I could borrow some of the pictures to make some copies but he wouldn't allow me to. However, at our next visit he gave me copies to keep that he had made at the library.
   I treasure the time I got to spend with my grandfather after we became more involved in Grandma's care. She needed help but Grandpa needed us just as much. He had lost his beautiful wife of almost sixty years to a disease that had left him with only a very small fraction of the woman he loved. He was there every day missing her. Who knows?  Maybe I was as much of a silver-lining to him as he was to me.

On the Other Side of the Wall: Early Days

One of the hardest parts of Alzheimer’s Disease is how long and drawn out it can be. Yes, we had observed the slow decline of Grandma’s overall health but the early signs of dementia we missed. Mom asked Grandpa when he noticed for the first time that something was not quite right, that there could be something serious going on with Grandma. When did he think her Alzheimer’s started for her? He said when she was 71 and they were on a trip and she all of a sudden had no idea where she was. He was shocked but let it go. For Grandma Alzheimer’s began as confusion or sudden forgetfulness. Over the course of ten years I lost my real Grandma. When I think of her during my childhood and early teen years I remember little square calendars she would let me take home from her house. I can smell the juicy Thanksgiving turkey she carved at the kitchen counter while she and I secretly sampled the best pieces together. She always wore bright lipstick and her black hair was curled under. On Easter she gave my siblings, my cousins and I beautiful brightly colored Easter baskets with chocolate bunnies, plastic eggs with quarters and dollar bills inside, jelly beans, and yellow marshmallow peeps. Her garden was filled with pink peonies, bleeding heart plants, and purple phlox. There was a tall white trellis at the entrance with climbing red roses. She proudly gave us tours, pointing out each flower when we came to visit. Grandma had a small birthday book to remember all of our special days and every year she asked me for a birthday and Christmas wish list. One time when I was in first grade she came to my school and gave a “talk” about her extensive butterfly collection. Grandma was generous and intelligent. She was a sweet lady to me as a little girl but by the time I was sixteen she couldn’t remember the basic details of her own life. Eventually Grandpa did take Grandma to the doctor to find out what in the world was wrong with her. But he never held a family meeting to let us all know about her diagnosis. It was a private matter until mom was downstairs in the basement with Grandpa one day and she finally asked the big question: “What is going on with mom?” And he answered, “Alzheimer’s”. That was that.

On the Other Side of the Wall: Batavia Days

I was about sixteen years old when my mom realized we had to do something to help Grandpa whether he asked for help or not. We started going out to their light green house in the heart of Batavia once a week. On Wednesdays my younger brother and sister had their piano and cello lessons nearby so it was convenient for Mom to drop me off at Grandpa and Grandma’s, take the kids to their lessons and then return in time for lunch. Grandpa was usually still upstairs in the bathroom when I arrived. It took him a while to get ready and he may have taken extra time in the bathroom knowing that Grandma probably wouldn’t come in to bother him. Eventually he came downstairs to start in on the important tasks of the day. Sometimes he was already busy. Frequently I’d find him sitting on his kitchen stool tying string around the bundles of papers he was preparing for the re-cycling bin. He was a professional re-cycler. He made a can stomping device from a piece of ply wood. The wood would be placed on top of the can and he would slam his foot down on it thereby crushing the can which was thrown into the blue box. When he saw me he cheerfully boomed HI-Ya Sarah! Then he explained to me exactly how to do what he was doing. If he was busy on the phone lecturing an unsuspecting costumer service representative about how they should manufacture toaster parts better then I would start with my own busy work. The dining room table was always covered with junk mail and newspapers. I tried throwing away scraps of paper and envelopes when Grandpa wasn’t looking and neatly piled up what was left. Next I cleared the saltine cracker box, silvery-pink canisters with the black tops, butter dish, and address book from the counter-top. All of Grandpa’s envelopes with notes and phone numbers scratched onto the backs of them got stacked neatly in the order I found them. The counter was wiped with a sponge and everything was put back in its place. I cleaned the stove, washed dishes, dusted and vacuumed. We tried to do what we could around the house to not only help but to care for Grandpa which I think meant a lot to him. As soon as the trio returned from lessons we started preparing lunch. My little sister disappeared upstairs somewhere trying on Grandma’s earrings and high heels in secret hoping not to get caught. My brother and I opened cans of vegetable soup, tuna fish or boxes of macaroni and cheese. One of us cooked and the other would set the table. Mom took Grandma to the bathroom to wash and dress her and Grandpa escaped to run errands or work outside. Sometimes it annoyed mom that Grandpa would sit down for lunch just as we were finishing up. He had good reason to take advantage of the time we were occupying Grandma. He was preserving his own sanity. After lunch Grandma sat down at the piano to play loud versions of ‘When We All Get to Heaven’ or ‘Blessed Assurance’. She played the piano more for us when she was sick than she ever did before when we visited. The TV was no longer able to compete with those strong fingers playing song after song. At the piano she was happy and reliving her youth as the prestigious organist of Asbury United Methodist Church in downtown Rochester sixty years previous. It amazed us that she remembered how to play when she couldn’t remember how to dress herself. I guess whatever you practice and love the most is probably what your brain holds onto most securely. Sometimes we stuck around to watch I Love Lucy, Perry Mason and The Dick Van Dyke Show on TV. By 4:00 pm it was time to give Grandma a kiss on the lips and Grandpa a hug. So that was our weekly routine, which eventually turned into bi-weekly, at Batavia. As the months went by Grandpa allowed us to take over some of his own jobs. We cut the grass, trimmed the bushes, picked the raspberries and Grandpa left to go wherever he needed to or spent more time in the bathroom. Two years later it was time. Grandpa was tired and it was only the beginning of Alzheimer’s Disease.

On the Other Side of the Wall: Saying Goodbye

He stands in the doorway heavy tears running silently down his face. Mom pulls the seatbelt across Grandma who sits in the front passenger seat of our small gray economy car mumbling, “Where am I?” over and over. Crammed into the back seat, my younger brother, little sister, and I glumly keep our thoughts to ourselves. Today is a dismal fall day only underscoring the feelings we all share. She was leaving him after fifty-seven years of marriage; forced to by dementia that Grandpa could no longer tolerate nor cope with. 

For ten years we had been losing our Grandma. She couldn’t remember where she lived, how old she was, how to cook, brush her teeth, take out her partial denture or rinse her mouth. She wasn’t allowed to shop alone, couldn’t be trusted to walk outside and no longer happily made Thanksgiving dinner wearing her red and white striped apron. When I was a little girl I stood on the stairs behind the kitchen sink while Grandma was washing the dishes. I asked her how old she was. “A woman never tells her age” she replied. In reality she just didn’t remember. Caring for her alone the last few years, Grandpa had helped her bathe, dress and comb her hair. When she first started getting confused he never took her to the doctor and never confided in family members or friends. How could he shame her by revealing to others that she was losing her mind? So he faithfully sheltered her and let us blame him for her failing health. She was dropping weight and no longer had her usual healthy glow; he must not be feeding her everyone thought. He hunted all over the house trying to find her hearing aid, wedding rings, glasses and teeth. Grandma always said, “Nat knows just how to do it.” Of course he did. He was her world. Stuck inside all day, she scuffled around the house in her red bathrobe with the falling off lace trim and dragging hem talking to the walls. Her days were spent opening and closing drawers, picking up various bells from her collection and ringing them, brushing crumbs off the table and counters and asking the same questions over and over like the drip drip drip of a leaky faucet. 

Grandpa dropped Grandma off at the hair salon and dental office while he ran errands and she had no clue where she was or what to do. Little did the beautician or dentist know they were providing an invaluable service to an elderly man who desperately needed to be alone so he could go to the post office, bank, and the store without wondering if his wife would still be in the car when he got back.