Today my mom and I went to visit my grandmother in her nursing home. It is always a sad experience. Although she recongnized us, it was next to impossible to have a conversation with her. The first thing she said when she saw me was that I was growing up. She then grabbed my hand and held it, smiling at me. I don't know why, but this upset me so much. I think it reminded me, that yes, I was growing up, and things were not easy anymore. Those weekends spent at grandma's are long gone now. I am a young adult now, there will be no more summer days spent swimming in her pool and watching the Disney Channel inside once it got dark. I wonder if she even remembers those days. She kept calling me Judy today which was the name of her neice. When I corrected her, she laughed at her mistake and remembered my name, but I wonder if she remembers that I am her granddaughter, whom she used to spend weekends with, who she ate dinner with every night once she moved onto our property, who she got in frequent arguments with...
As the conversation went along, my mom spent some time trying to explain where she was. She is currently residing in the town where she spent 35 years of her life, where she raised my mom and was a schoolteacher. The names of the cross streets rang no bells for her. She was minutes from her home where she had spent so much of her life, but she could have been in Mozambique for all she knew. She is so fragile now, almost like a child. I am just glad that she does know who I am. I can tell by the look on her face when we walk in the room, and from the exclmation of joy that escapes her lips when she sees us approaching her.
I wonder about all the other patients there. To me, they are just old decrepit people, many of them out of their minds. But they are all someone's mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, husband, or wife. They mean as much to someone as my grandma does to me. They used to have lives just like I do now. They went to school, had jobs and touched people's lives and now they are stuck, living out the rest of their lives locked away from the world they once knew. It is tragic. There is no other word for it.
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
I share your pain.
My uncle had a stroke a few years ago. He used to be the life of the party, and I distinctly remember how well he treated me. He even took me and my family out to dinner when I got my first A in elementary school.
But that was before it happened. Now, everyday is a struggle for him. He can hardly walk, and his sentences are reduced to grunts and smiles. But what hurts the most is looking into his eyes. Because, he can still see and hear and think, but he can't express himself clearly, except for his sad, meaningful eyes. He is a spirited soul trapped in an unfunctional body. And I just wish that there was more that I could do for him. I wish I could set him free.
I feel the same way about my grandma. It's so sad because you know that they are formulating thoughts in their mind, but they are completely unable to express themselves. They are not completely gone, but if they can't converse, it feels as though they are. I'm sorry your uncle had a stroke too. It's so hard because it's not like anlzheimers where they slowly lose their memory, just all of a sudden one day, they are gone.
I wonder if I'll ever be like that? Even now, I don't even think I remember every little thing that happened to me. It's so sad. What will I remember exactly when I get older. Will I remember who I used to be? It must be hard to leave someone you love at a nursing home. They must feel really lonely. If I can help it, I'll try to have them stand in the house so maybe they'll remember something when they wake up in the morning and see something they recognize.
----------------------------------------------------------------
http://www.mylot.com/?ref=truelife
We brought her home for Christmas and she had no idea where she was though. She kept saying what a lovely house it was and kept asking whose house it was. It was sad. She had only lived with us for six years, but she thought that the last place she lived was the house she raised my mom in.