I Forget
My Grandfather also developed Alzheimer’s.
Apparently I was the last one to know. Everybody thought I knew, so no one said anything. Then again, I have never been very good at listening to my parents or grandparents talk about their health issues. Have to try harder now because there are more of them, and instead of being a kid, I am someone who can actually lend support.
My Grandfather got worse and worse after his stroke. One night he cried because his mother died, even though his mother had been dead for more than twenty years. More than once he demanded that someone take him home. He insisted that my Grandparent’s house was not his home, and that he had no idea who my Grandmother was. One time he even giggled about how bad they were being, sleeping in the same bed, and that if his mom ever came in and found them, they’d be in trouble.
Eventually, he was starting to get violent. Threatened to hit my Grandmother one time if she didn’t let him out. That was when she called the cops. My Grandfather was walking down the road, headed “home” while my Uncle Foghorn walked behind him, trying to reason with him. My Grandfather threatened several times to beat up my Uncle, even swung his cane at him once, but eventually, he realized he had to go back.
The cops were waiting for him, and they took him away.
My Grandmother tells me stories about how he is doing now. Sometimes he is angry and violent, and it takes several nurses to calm him. He is drugged up most of the time. He has to be fed, because he can’t do it himself. And when he gets angry, he’ll spit his food out over my Grandmother, or my Aunt, or whoever is feeding him.
My Mother, his daughter, won’t visit him. She says it’s because she has a weak stomach, and she would throw up if he spit his food out on her. But I think it’s because she doesn’t want to see her father like that, doesn’t want to be faced with her father as someone she doesn’t recognize, or worse, herself as someone who isn’t recognized by her own father.
I went to visit him once. He could barely stay awake. At one point, he took off his glasses and wiped a tear away from his eye as he stared out the window. He stared a long time, until my Grandmother asked him something, and as quick as that, whatever was making him sad was gone, lost somewhere in the mess of memories that are jumbled up in his head.
Apparently I was the last one to know. Everybody thought I knew, so no one said anything. Then again, I have never been very good at listening to my parents or grandparents talk about their health issues. Have to try harder now because there are more of them, and instead of being a kid, I am someone who can actually lend support.
My Grandfather got worse and worse after his stroke. One night he cried because his mother died, even though his mother had been dead for more than twenty years. More than once he demanded that someone take him home. He insisted that my Grandparent’s house was not his home, and that he had no idea who my Grandmother was. One time he even giggled about how bad they were being, sleeping in the same bed, and that if his mom ever came in and found them, they’d be in trouble.
Eventually, he was starting to get violent. Threatened to hit my Grandmother one time if she didn’t let him out. That was when she called the cops. My Grandfather was walking down the road, headed “home” while my Uncle Foghorn walked behind him, trying to reason with him. My Grandfather threatened several times to beat up my Uncle, even swung his cane at him once, but eventually, he realized he had to go back.
The cops were waiting for him, and they took him away.
My Grandmother tells me stories about how he is doing now. Sometimes he is angry and violent, and it takes several nurses to calm him. He is drugged up most of the time. He has to be fed, because he can’t do it himself. And when he gets angry, he’ll spit his food out over my Grandmother, or my Aunt, or whoever is feeding him.
My Mother, his daughter, won’t visit him. She says it’s because she has a weak stomach, and she would throw up if he spit his food out on her. But I think it’s because she doesn’t want to see her father like that, doesn’t want to be faced with her father as someone she doesn’t recognize, or worse, herself as someone who isn’t recognized by her own father.
I went to visit him once. He could barely stay awake. At one point, he took off his glasses and wiped a tear away from his eye as he stared out the window. He stared a long time, until my Grandmother asked him something, and as quick as that, whatever was making him sad was gone, lost somewhere in the mess of memories that are jumbled up in his head.
posted by deadwriter at 3:36 p.m.
3 Comments:
When did you finally find out that your grandfather had Alzheimer's?
I like the story of him giggling about being in bed with your grandmother, it's cute. Better than turning and screaming when he saw her because she's a stranger, or something.
It was sometime last year, probably in the Spring.
There are still times when he smiles and giggles about things that aren't real, mixed in with the times when he barely awake and the times when he's angry.
I will probably visit him again with my grandmother soon...
Just me being nosy: Would your mother have to go at mealtime? Because, um... I don't think he'd always be eating....
I'll shut up now.
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