On the Other Side of the Wall: Coming Home

   What's crazy about the day we brought Grandma home to live with us is that she had no idea where she was going. She knew we were familiar faces but she didn't know why. She sat still in the car mumbling in a slow rhythm her usual question, "Where am I?" over and over and over again. The scratched record player of her memory getting stuck and playing the same phrase hundreds of times in a row. In a way the dementia protected her from the anxiety of leaving her husband and her home where she had lived for over fifty years. The person she loved most and relied upon, all of her treasured collections, her piano, her sense of familiarity were all being left behind. She was actually calm as we drove away. Grandpa was standing there in the driveway, his heart breaking a little bit more, tears in his eyes and Grandma was okay with it. She was not suffering.

   For me personally this was the beginning of Alzheimer's Disease. We had been helping Grandpa with Grandma's care for two years but we weren't living with the disease. Grandpa was grieved seeing her go but set free at the same time. The crushing burden of holding onto his dear wife who was drowning in a black churning sea of disconnection from the world around her was being lifted. He was trying so hard to keep them both afloat every single day. Waves of exhaustion and frustration were overwhelming him and he was too tired to swim to shore. It was time for that burden to be transferred to somebody else. Now it was our turn; my parents, my siblings, and me were jumping into the sea.

   The car ride home was quiet. Slowly we pulled into the gravel driveway. Mom helped Grandma out of the car and led her into the house. We thought we were bringing our grandma, mother, mother-in-law, who had a disease into our home. In reality Grandma was not the only one who was going to be living with the disease. All of us were going to be living with it. Gradually, with the passing of each day, we all had a part of the disease as care-givers and helpers. Alzheimer's sat with us at the dinner table, kept us up at night, and followed us around the house during the daytime. Alzheimer's was alive and well on the other side of my bedroom wall breathing heavily, rattling the locked door, yelling at the face in the mirror.