At first it was slow, gentle. She lost a few memories, but once reminded, they seemed to come back to her. We knew it was coming, but we thought we had time. Then, as if all at once, she slipped into her disease. It consumed the woman I once knew, turning her into someone she would have hated. It hurt. Silently watching her lose herself, not being able to help, not existing in her world. It burned my soul. All I could do, all anyone can do, is continuing to love her through it all.
I missed how she sang my name, I missed the twinkle in her eyes, I missed the way she used to hug me. I missed every part of her that started to disappear as this disease started to win. All I could think about is how unfair it is. How this woman, who has so many incredible stories to tell, could not remember her well lived life. Her light still glowed, although it had been dimmed, it never went out.
My grandmother was an incredible person. She is one of the few people on this earth who was genuinely kind to everyone. Warmth radiated from her, shining through dark times for anyone she encountered. Her eyes had this indescribable twinkle. You could see the love in them. She was more than this disease. She was a daughter, a wife, a mother, an aunt, a sister, a friend, a perfect grandmother and a light to this world.
When she passed on, it rocked me. She was one of my heroes, one of the many inspirational women who lit up my world. I kept breaking down, because I lost her years ago. The first time she asked who that pretty girl was, I knew I was lost, stuck in the abyss that had formed inside her mind. I could see her, trying to break free of the disease, trying to remember. I could hold her, but it was never the same. Now I feel like I can bring her back in my mind. I summon the memories from before the disease, the sweet sound of "K-K-K-Katie beautiful Katie," echoes through my mind. She might have lost me, but I refuse to lose her. I will hold on to every sweet memory until I cannot anymore, because that is what she deserves.
Alzheimer's and dementia take loved ones in the worst kind of way. You can see them and be with them. But they can never be truly with you. There's a bodily form of them for you to see and hear. The most important part of them, however, is gone. The pain of watching someone you love lose their selves is something I would not wish on anyone.
It is going to hurt. It is going to suck.
Love them through it.
Rest in Peace Mary Ellen Lundahl. Forever missed, Forever loved.
