Not the "I hate you and I never want to see you again!" type of die. Not the petty crap that just doesn't matter and is moronic. I'm speaking of death as solace. Death as refuge from the sad state that the world has put you in through no effort and no consequence of your own doing. Is that wrong to wish someone could die, if only to be released from whatever "in between" they currently inhabit?
I feel quite miserable saying this, and very much like a bad person. I'm not sure how to comprehend how my God would feel about me saying this, though I hope He would feel it not inhumane. It's a grace that I'm scared to hope for, a blessing in disguise that one should be freed from whatever suffering I perceive there to be.
My Gramma (that's Grandma/Grandmother for the rest of you) is in the throes of Alzheimer's. I don't remember when Gramma was just a little incoherent, just forgot the little things. I remember the Gramma that had the pound cakes ready each Christmas by the dozens. The gramma that didn't have to look at any recipe (except the dumplings, I believe) to know how to cook it. The gramma that never missed a beat when Papa took to poking fun at her. I only briefly remember the Gramma that was miserable one Christmas because Papa was gone (and had been for a number of years, wounds stay fresher when you revisit them often). I remember hearing Gramma say she no longer wanted to live, and apologizing in the next breath for being difficult on Christmas. I remember my Mom getting her to get cleaned up, and us eating fried chicken before we left for home. I remember sitting and watching the Food network for 6 hours that day. But I don't remember the meanness, or the incoherence, or the blank looks that they say she has now. I just remember she started sleeping a lot. Quite frankly, I don't want to remember the reality of "now". I much prefer the reality of then. They say she's mean. They say she sleeps all the time. They say she's done with life. They say that when she is awake she no longer knows. So yes, I wish her freedom for her.
I don't want Gramma to die, but I don't want Gramma to live like this. I have a little secret hope that wherever she is there's some happiness. I remember that Gramma used to yell out in her sleep (and occasionally beat the hell outta Papa, which was funny then) because people were trying to get her. I hope she's not stuck there. I hope she doesn't ever have to go to that place that causes those fears. Even if it's delusion, I like to think her in a field of flowers or a kitchen, doing what Gramma does. That's where I picture her grayness, her gone-ness. I don't like to think of her as lost.
I read that it kills you by infection, or by making your body forget how to function, which causes the infection. No one says it's hospitable, or gracious, or even forgiving. I wonder if it's wrong to wish someone freedom, to wish someone happiness, like I do her. I'll never wish anyone to suffer, even if it means holding on for myself. That body no longer holds my Gramma to me. She's been gone awhile now. I've not been to see her in a few years, either be omission, or scheduling, or unconscious design of either myself or my parents. To some that makes me a bad person. To hell with them. I don't want to hurt her by making her endure time with a person she doesn't know, I don't want to scare her. And I'm selfish enough to admit I don't want to go through that either.
I don't think it's wrong to wish for a person to be free when it's love that's driving that. It's wishing for an end to suffering. I don't want her to die, but I don't want her to live like this. I just want her to be happy, whether it be in her field of flowers and my gray-ness, or with my God and Papa going for Sunday drives in the Town Car (but only if it's after a good, southern dinner).
This is my Monday conundrum.
Picture of the Day
Vacation Fun
2 comments:
I literally teared up reading this. I completely agree with you. Who wants someone they love to be miserable? I hate that I don't have as many memories with Gramma as you or "the others." But, I do have good ones. She always laughed at my jokes (even if they were stupid). She cooked the best sugar cookies I've ever eaten. And she always made Jello and put whipped cream on it (which I thought was odd)- I think for you? She was so much fun, and I love hearing stories about her, because I don't have that many to tell. I hate to go and see her like this, but feel so guilty when I don't. It's just easier to remember her the way she was. Anyway, love you!
I don't really remember the sugar cookies, though I remember them always being there. I think the Jello was for Papa so he would always have some sort of dessert. It was easier after supper. And yes, there was ALWAYS cool whip. I remember helping her wash dishes after the meals and how I had to wimp out and use cooler water. How she had the most distinct voice yelling at the dogs (she didn't much care for Monty, he's too big) and how she'd say she didn't like Sloop but when Sloop hopped up in the chair and laid down it was ok. I remember her ANCIENT laundry machines at the old house and how much she hated laundry. I remember always giggling ridiculously when we'd make noodles or dumplings - from scratch - on the kitchen table and I'd destroy them or get flour EVERYWHERE. I remember playing in the yard for hours and always being able to look at the kitchen window and see her or Mom there.
I may have more, but they're no less or more special. That we have any at all is what's important.
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