I have been thinking about my grandpa a lot lately. He died a few years ago after a long battle with the Alzheimer’s disease. I remember the first time I heard that word “Alzheimer’s” I had no idea what it meant, or why my cousin was saying my grandpa was “sick,” he looked the same to me. However, you can’t psychically see when someone has Alzheimer’s disease. I wouldn’t accept that my Papa had this disease that is supposed to steal all of a person’s memories, cause them to forget their loved ones, and essentially lose who they are. I didn’t accept it until I had to.
Before I knew it, my grandpa was moved to an assisted living home, alone. My grandpa was under constant watch of nurses, yet each time I visited him he looked didn’t look any better. My bright eyed, funny, loving, aeronautically intelligent Papa now had forgotten my name, that I am his granddaughter, the countless sporting events he had attended and that I love him.
My Papa was the smartest and most caring man I knew. He built each grandchild a house or light house to play with. These toys were made entirely of wood and decently sized. Every Easter my grandpa would buy me the biggest stuffed animal bunny he could find, each year I remember they would be bigger and bigger. He was special to everyone who knew him, and he always will be.
You always hear stories about people having “one nice day” before they die, I didn’t think much of it the last time I visited my grandfather. The last time I saw my grandpa he recognized me, he didn’t know my name, but he knew I was someone special to him. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and actually clapped when my family and I walked into the room. He knew he should be happy to see us and he was. He gave hugs and laughed, two rare actions since he had been in the nursing home. The last day I saw my Papa was the way I will always remember him.
The Alzheimer’s disease is not well known, but it does affect many families, and is the most painful challenge I have had to face. Not only did my grandfather die, but even before he died he was gone, because aren’t people shaped by their experiences and react to things based upon memory? So how could my Papa be the same man he used to be, if he couldn’t remember him? The Alzheimer’s disease is terrible, and any little gesture can help.
Each year my family comes together to run a 5k that raises awareness for Alzheimer’s. Our goal is to raise at least $2000, and this year we continue to keep the tradition going. When we face adversity we must rise above. My Papa didn’t have the chance to rise above, so we rise for him, and for all the families suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s. We rise, so that a cure can be possible. We rise so that others may not know the pain we know. We rise to end Alzheimer’s disease, and honor our Papa/Dad/Brother/Uncle/Cousin/Husband/Friend.
