To Grandma - By Godofwine (650 Words)
Bertha Jonas sat in her wheelchair running her tongue across what was left of her teeth. It always gave her a strange sensation remembering back to when she had a full set, but this was all she had left. She raised her hands, which shook mightily from the palsy, and then folded them back in her lap.
Her hands and body didn’t shake in her dreams.
If not for the tremors, she’d enjoy these fleeting moments of lucidity, but they were growing shorter and much less frequent. The birthday card with her picture on her nightstand reminded her just how long she had been walking on this plane - 101 years - which was too long by at least fifteen years by her estimation, maybe longer. It was difficult to tell, as many of the days ran together, like trying to count the windows on a moving train.
But she also longed for the dreams.
The dreams allowed her the dichotomy of lucidity and freedom, and she grew to enjoy them both. Those extended moments where she wandered from one fantastic dream to the next. In them, she got to play again, and wasn’t cooped up in a room by herself or in a gathering of strangers; she was in full control of her body and her bodily functions. Even the scary dreams weren’t so bad once she got used to them. After a while, she realized she wasn’t in any more danger than on a rollercoaster or the nightmares she endured as a child.
‘All of the fear and none of the danger,’ she used to tell her kids and grandkids.
In the dreams, she was almost never alone. Her brother Walter and sister Sarah kept her company, and the two of them together were so funny she’d be in tears most of the time. At the dawn of every dream, she would rush to the mirror because it was never the same. Sometimes she’d have wrinkles, sometimes not, but each time was a welcome surprise regardless how she looked.
Devastation occurred when the dream abruptly ended, pouring like water through her fingers. Regardless of how desperately tried to hold onto the image, it slipped through her grasp. The feeling of being yanked backward as the world dissolved before her was near catastrophic the first time, though eventually the event just grew tiring and drained her strength.
In the aftermath, she was shocked at how long she’d been gone. An hour at first, then a day, and then weeks.
“Why am I still here?” Bertha weakly asked when her daughter Shirley last visited.
Shirley had no words of comfort. She simply hugged her and said, “I don’t know, mama.”
But ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t the comfort she was looking for. She loved the dreams, but the come-down from dream to her reality was too much to handle anymore.
She just wanted to go home.
“Bertha, are you in there?”
“Where else would I be?” Bertha thought.
But she didn’t just think the words – she felt her lips move with every word as she said them and her voice was strong.
Her eyes widened, as the person rounding the corner wasn’t her nurse, but her sister Sarah, with her brother Walter following closely behind.
“I…I,” Bertha said, tears streaming down her face. She raised a hand to her mouth, then stared at it as if it didn’t belong to her.
Her hand wasn’t shaking.
She lifted her other hand to see if it was real and her hand was as steady as it would have been 60 years before.
She looked around and the bed, the bedpan on the table – everything was still there. She wasn’t dreaming, but she was…normal again. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she couldn’t stop crying and smiling.
“Get up outta that chair, Baby Bertha. You’re coming with us,” her brother Walter said.
******
This may be a fictional account of my 101 year-old grandmothers last days, but some of what I included was real. She actually asked my mom, "Why am I still here?" and my mom did reply, "I don't know."
I have no idea what Dementia or Alzheimer's feelings are for the person going through it, so I constructed it to be like a dream of sorts. I image part of it is going to the parts of your life that you remember, that was her sister Sarah (my great aunt) and their brother Walter.
My grandmother has called me by my father's name since I've been grown because I look like him. It is tough on folks who have to watch people they love go through it. Luckily, I don't have any other experiences with it except with my grandma who had dementia.
The older we get, we're cursed to watch the ones around us pass on in various ways. What are your experiences with Alzheimers and Dementia?
Bertha Jonas sat in her wheelchair running her tongue across what was left of her teeth. It always gave her a strange sensation remembering back to when she had a full set, but this was all she had left. She raised her hands, which shook mightily from the palsy, and then folded them back in her lap.
Her hands and body didn’t shake in her dreams.
If not for the tremors, she’d enjoy these fleeting moments of lucidity, but they were growing shorter and much less frequent. The birthday card with her picture on her nightstand reminded her just how long she had been walking on this plane - 101 years - which was too long by at least fifteen years by her estimation, maybe longer. It was difficult to tell, as many of the days ran together, like trying to count the windows on a moving train.
But she also longed for the dreams.
The dreams allowed her the dichotomy of lucidity and freedom, and she grew to enjoy them both. Those extended moments where she wandered from one fantastic dream to the next. In them, she got to play again, and wasn’t cooped up in a room by herself or in a gathering of strangers; she was in full control of her body and her bodily functions. Even the scary dreams weren’t so bad once she got used to them. After a while, she realized she wasn’t in any more danger than on a rollercoaster or the nightmares she endured as a child.
‘All of the fear and none of the danger,’ she used to tell her kids and grandkids.
In the dreams, she was almost never alone. Her brother Walter and sister Sarah kept her company, and the two of them together were so funny she’d be in tears most of the time. At the dawn of every dream, she would rush to the mirror because it was never the same. Sometimes she’d have wrinkles, sometimes not, but each time was a welcome surprise regardless how she looked.
Devastation occurred when the dream abruptly ended, pouring like water through her fingers. Regardless of how desperately tried to hold onto the image, it slipped through her grasp. The feeling of being yanked backward as the world dissolved before her was near catastrophic the first time, though eventually the event just grew tiring and drained her strength.
In the aftermath, she was shocked at how long she’d been gone. An hour at first, then a day, and then weeks.
“Why am I still here?” Bertha weakly asked when her daughter Shirley last visited.
Shirley had no words of comfort. She simply hugged her and said, “I don’t know, mama.”
But ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t the comfort she was looking for. She loved the dreams, but the come-down from dream to her reality was too much to handle anymore.
She just wanted to go home.
“Bertha, are you in there?”
“Where else would I be?” Bertha thought.
But she didn’t just think the words – she felt her lips move with every word as she said them and her voice was strong.
Her eyes widened, as the person rounding the corner wasn’t her nurse, but her sister Sarah, with her brother Walter following closely behind.
“I…I,” Bertha said, tears streaming down her face. She raised a hand to her mouth, then stared at it as if it didn’t belong to her.
Her hand wasn’t shaking.
She lifted her other hand to see if it was real and her hand was as steady as it would have been 60 years before.
She looked around and the bed, the bedpan on the table – everything was still there. She wasn’t dreaming, but she was…normal again. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she couldn’t stop crying and smiling.
“Get up outta that chair, Baby Bertha. You’re coming with us,” her brother Walter said.
******
This may be a fictional account of my 101 year-old grandmothers last days, but some of what I included was real. She actually asked my mom, "Why am I still here?" and my mom did reply, "I don't know."
I have no idea what Dementia or Alzheimer's feelings are for the person going through it, so I constructed it to be like a dream of sorts. I image part of it is going to the parts of your life that you remember, that was her sister Sarah (my great aunt) and their brother Walter.
My grandmother has called me by my father's name since I've been grown because I look like him. It is tough on folks who have to watch people they love go through it. Luckily, I don't have any other experiences with it except with my grandma who had dementia.
The older we get, we're cursed to watch the ones around us pass on in various ways. What are your experiences with Alzheimers and Dementia?
