Ebb and Flow

I talked to Granny this last weekend for a long time, and it was just like it used to be. She laughed, asking about how the cats were adapting to the new house - her voice warm and full of love and happiness. She said she was scared of her upcoming visit to the neurologist, but that she was going to put on her brave face and be "your iron horse." She sounded young, and chipper... and the woman I remember. With the soft arms and enormous bosom that she would smother you with hugs with. She was again the fiery Irish redhead who took no lip from anyone... She was her, if only for a brief hour.

[When I was 12, and PaPaw passed away, it was just the two of us - and it was hard. Really really hard emotionally. Shortly after his funeral she took me aside and told me that I was going to have to be very strong, and that although I was still young I was going to have to try to be "a little tin soldier." She promised me that she would be an iron horse, carrying the brunt of it, and pulling me through. From that time on, when things were rough, my divorce, her multiple heart attacks, we always referred to each other that way.]

Now, it's official. She's been diagnosed with severe Alzheimer's and there is no turning back of the clock. The parts of her we've lost, the doctor said will never be recovered. They've juggled her plethora of medicines around, and she's now on Aricept to help to try to stop the progression of the disease. Things will ebb and flow, and there will be moments that are better - but overall, it's not good.

The doctor said it's bad. Really bad. Bad in the way that my last conversation with her may be the last one in which she's really coherent. The flashes of lucidity are becoming so much rarer. The long term memory is stronger, but short term - she's basically got no memory at all. I feel so enormously guilty because I let her off the phone when I pulled in the driveway. I could have had a few more minutes with her. Just a few more words. Just to tell her I loved her. I want her to remember that.

I called her today from the office, and asked her about her hospital visit yesterday. She had no idea what I was talking about. She asked about work, and about a few things, and then it was all jibberish.

I can't stop the torrent of tears. I can't stop the feeling of hopelessness, of feeling so awful that I used to be irritated when she wouldn't stop talking and I just wanted to get off the phone, that I didn't call when I say I would - or chose to go on vacation instead of visiting her.

I should have done a better job. I should have told her I loved her more, taken better care of her, been there for her.

She told me that she wants to come home, so she can die in peace.

I am so afraid. I feel so small. So helpless.