So my lovelies, I am slowly commenting on all your messages that you left for me re the recent passing of my grandmother. I have commented on 300 and have over 200 left. Thank you so much for all of them. Just the presence of such warm hearted souls here is simply magic. You always blow me away when we interact on such a scale. And its been lovely reading about your lives. The world is full of some wonderful people, connections and sweet happenings. I have to say before my gran passed, she was generally so unhappy. In the past 4 years she lost her precious independence and she deteriorated in her feeling about things. She was in so much pain and though her eyes would light up when we would come into the room, she would soon get lost in her misery, although finding inspiration a few times in the conversation as we would tell her about our children and the lovely things happening in our lives. She recently became very forgetful, having very little present memory, but she could remember things of old. She would soon forget things I told her in conversation and would ask me the same questions again and again. She stopped smiling so much. She would often fall into a daze of melancholy, saying that being in a concentration camp in WWII was better than being in the state she was in, in her nursing home. I thought it sad for her to continue living. She seemed like she was done here. Before she went into a nursing home, she was terribly unhappy at home. Not being able to get up on her own. Not being able to go to the toilet by herself. She would often scream and cry in pain. I honestly thought passing on a few years back would have been better for her. But she still remained in that state for a few years. To be honest, for a while now I had felt I would never have any kind of connection with her again, in the sense of how we were together before her physical and mental health declined. I stopped visiting her so much because it felt like I wasnt really a part of her world. Her health really deteriorated about six weeks ago and she went into hospital because her digestive system stopped working. They thought she was going to die on the first, second, third, fourth night. But still, somehow she remained. She survived on a teaspoon of this syrup liquid every few hours, with teaspoons of water here and there. I went to visit her and she didnt recognise me directly but she was happy to see my young face. She said something that made me laugh. She sighed, saying how nice it was to hear laughter again. I kissed her gently, saying I would see her again. I wasnt sure if I would. She still held on through that escapade too and was moved to another nursing home. My dad asked for my support as he went to visit her the day after she moved there. I went with him for him as much as for her. My heart broke when I saw her in her bed, her body was so small. Id seen her just a few days before and now she seemed so tiny. So frail. But she was wearing her 1970s shirt of different hues of brown zig zags with a touch of blue in between. A shirt so often saw hanging in her wardrobe while growing up. It comforted to see her in that although she couldnt fill it anymore. She was mumbling to the nurse by her side and then invited us in. She was smiling like she used to, her hair long, grey and thin, and she instantly got talking to me like we were two old biddies having a god old natter together. And I played along. I hadnt seen this energy in her for years or really ever. She was talking to me like we were both on a cruise and she had just been dining with some American ladies who were singers or entertainers of some sort. She told me how her brother (who passed on in 1992) was coming to collect her and her husband was playing bridge with some of his friends. I complimented her on her taste in clothes and she giggled like she was a little girl. She told me that they had tried to cut her sleeves but she had told them no because the patterns were so nice. I think she was going back to the Second World War in that moment, even though she giggled, like it had all been a big joke. She was just this beautiful soul in this frail body who giggled like a girl and spoke about her life like a well-to-do woman. I supposedly had my own chef. I went with it all and enjoyed the story of her life as all her dominant memories mish-mashed together, asking her questions, telling her how lovely her shirt was when she started to get a little nervous. Shed break out into a giggle again and tell me about just coming back from the Bahamas and playing tennis. I kissed her lots. I stroked her hair. I looked deep into her eyes. I felt fortunate to be getting a part of my grandmother that I was too young to notice as I was growing up. I was perhaps seeing the lady she was even before I was born. We had the same kind of conversation a few times in that hour as though it was the first time. Because I hadnt seen this side of her for so long I was happy to go on repeat and give her this little relief. Eventually we had to go and of course she didnt want us to. It was difficult but I decided after, that to keep that moment as precious as it was, and because it was so unexpected, I would make that the last time I saw her. That was how I wanted to remember her. It was such a gift, out of entirely nowhere and I knew she didnt have much longer. I had seem her deteriorate so much over the years. I had seen her suffering. I now had this new beautiful image of her in my mind. I wanted to treasure that. Her body gave up 9 days later. And so that is what comforts me now so much. I got to see this strong and beautiful although embittered lady in her happy place, not really one last time, because Id never seen anything like it before. It was a first for me and it was such a blessing. People say Alzheimers is a curse. Seeing how my babas memories gave her relief, meaning and energy in that difficult transition, Im not so sure now. It got me thinking about what life really is about. Was it really about the sad distress her body was in in that moment, or was it about the memories that seemed to rescue her from the utter sadness that had taken over her life in the last few years because her present life had just become so awful for her. Her lack of present memory and her overwhelming remembrance of all those years ago seemed to be an absolute blessing in disguise. I left my gran that day in a state of silent wow. Feeling so blessed to have witnessed that moment but not just witnessing it, I had been right in the heart of it, cheek to cheek, living it with her as it was so alive in her mind, in her heart. Im sure her soul danced in that hour and I had never seem it dance in such a way before. Her funeral is next Monday and this is what I want to share with everyone in my speech. I want to say that our happy places are so very important, and though the world gets us down, may we never forget our happy places, because magic lives there always. I saw the magic in her eyes again. It was my eyes to light up this time. I am so very grateful and wanted to share that precious moment with all of you for being so kind in your messages to me. I am writing about all this stuff and more in Off the Hamster Wheel. Private Message the page for details if you want to join a few of us already there. But if not, please nurture and protect your happy place, wherever and whatever it might be, because what I have seen in this whole chapter is that the magic there never ends and works like medicine and therapy to our souls, our minds, our hearts, perhaps to an extent our bodies too. And it will nurture and protect you when needs be. --S.C Lourie
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 22:05:01 +0000
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