Time is a Thief

It's difficult to watch people age. Especially when they are your grandparents. The simple knowledge that we all grow old isn't enough to quell the feelings of sadness and loss.

When such important roots of your family tree become less and less like the incredible characters you fell in love with as a child, the urge to avoid watching their decline can be tempting to follow. If you don't see it often, it isn't something that you think about. The downside to that is that you might be preserving the memories of them in their prime, but you are missing out on the moments that they might need you to be there the most.

No matter how painful it may be to witness my grandfather's spark slowly fade, I will continue to visit and listen to the same story over and over. The look on his face never changes whether it's the first time he's told me a particular story, or the fifth. When you love someone, you accept who they are. Even when who they are starts to change.

The part that's most difficult is listening to their other half verbalize the differences. My grandmother has to watch her mate of 67 years become more unrecognizable,  forgetting simple things, no longer being able to do the tasks he used to do - slowly becoming a stranger in their marriage.  It's much worse because she is aware of the steady disappearing act of the once funny, loving man her husband has always been. She also knows she can't do anything except watch. That leaves those who love them feeling utterly helpless.

I cannot imagine spending so many years of my life with another person only to have them taken away bit by bit as we near the finish together. The fear, anxiety, and isolation this must create are unimaginable to me. How can you be of any comfort to someone who is living hardship of dementia if you can't get past the disbelief of it yourself?

Odd as it may seem, for me, remembering everything I can about my grandparents before they were handed this life trial helps me anchor myself to the love they brought to my life. Feeling that abundance of emotion could reduce me to tears if I started to focus on the blurring of my grandfather's personality and all he's been. Instead, I choose to believe that just being able to recall so many memories that still carry so much love, means that my grandparents are still the important roots they always have been. It doesn't matter how that love still fills the space between or around them, just that they still do.

Giving back to these wonderful people by sitting, listening, and laughing as often as I can, buoyed by all the love I have because of them, doesn't take much consideration. I may not be able to slow the effects of time, or prevent the inevitable, but along with the rest of my family, I can make sure they don't go through it alone.