Conversations with Grandma

"Did you really think it would be different this time? Did you forget? Because I didn't," Mom says to me as she's changing out of her work clothes into her gardening outfit. She's referring to the fact that after Grandma stayed with us last time, I had told her that the environment of being at home (with Grandma) was too stressful, and that I would move out. In the end, as Mom will frequently explain, she chose my health over that of her mother's. She has said repeatedly, "You are my first priority."

The problem is rather complicated, and my grandmother, even in her diminished capacity, has provided a few good argument points. One, she accuses me of wanting for her what I think is right--not what she wants or how she wants to live her life. That's absolutely true. I have these ideas in my head about how I would want to die (with peace and with my family), and she strongly holds onto the belief that certain actions made by her son cannot be forgiven. That she simply refuses to. And why? Why hold a grudge when you're a few years away from death? I believe that it is profoundly sad for both her and for her son. The worst part is: most of these injuries she places on her son for blame--well, they never happened. These are delusions on her part. He doesn't sneak in and out of her house to steal her belongings (he lives over four hours away), he never sold her truck without her permission and then kept the money (it was repossessed for non-payment). He doesn't actively try to control her. If it was left up to him, he would ignore her until she died, alone and in that fucking house out in the middle of Ridgecrest. Perhaps it's her realization that largely, her family has abandoned her that is driving her insanity. After all, if her son continues to "control" her, he is at least paying attention to her, and she therefore is not totally alone.

Most of everything can be explained by a high schooler's quick review of the symptoms of dementia. In that context, almost everything she does fits that model--and makes sense. Her forgetfulness. Her delusions. Her insomnia. The enduring and increasing lack of self-care, including batheing, combing her hair, etc--and more importantly, her refusal to monitor her diabetes. She said to me yesterday, "I'm more worried about my mental health than my physical health. At least with the physical stuff, they can fix it. They can't fix the other stuff." I told her that it was the same with my disorder--doctors can help, but they can't cure. However, as I said to her, there are medications that can slow the deterioration. That can improve her quality of life. I also calmly explained to her that the average life span of someone who has dementia is about seven years from date of diagnosis. "That's a long time when you're someone my age," was her response. I view seven years as a blink of an eye that is clouded by cataracts.