Until I Remembered

This week is Dementia Action Week. It is a UK holiday, but I recently learned about it at a conference I attended. I think it is valuable to spread awareness. Dementia affects about 10% of adults ages 65+ in the United States. It jumps to about a third of adults who reach 90+. And, the worst statistic yet, those stats are expected to double by 2060 as the population ages. I have watched my grandpa battle this disease. Watching his bright mind literally die slowly over time has been so hard. So, below is something I wrote that I hope helps raise awareness. 

My grandpa used to tell us stories about faraway places, mythical creatures, adventures. His stories would be colored by friends, headless snakes that would swim away, giant roaring animals in the woods, airplane engines exploding, his father going out with 12 bullets but coming back with 13 squirrels, telephone wires going along for miles along beautiful landscape, and palaces he would see from the sky. 

Grandpa would tell us stories...until he forgot. 

Grandpa would wind up his clock. It would chime every fifteen minutes marking the time. At first, when I would spend the night it would keep me awake chiming so often, but over time (ironic, I know), I grew accustomed to it's steady cadence that reminded me so much of the one who cared for it. 

My grandpa would wind up his clock...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would put up his flag each and every day, proud to be an American and represent the country he fought for and served. It would fly high and proud each day in his front yard, its bright colors shining as the sun's rays would shine down and the wind would make it fly. 

My grandpa would fly his flag...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would whistle while he was working or walking or just happy to be around. He would whistle well known tunes or something he made up on the spot. We always knew where he was as he whistled around the corner with his lungs that never seemed to run out of air. 

My grandpa would whistle...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would work all day making things with his hands. Some of the most beautiful pieces came out of his shed, but memories were made there as well. When he wasn't woodworking, he was doing home improvements, or keeping his mind active as he calculated the time or distance it would take to get to a random spot on the map often doing the math all in his head. 

My grandpa would work...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would call me by name and be able to pick me out of a crowd. He would tell me about when I was a baby or call me to come over to him so he could show me a piece of the world that he found to be interesting. 

My grandpa knew my name...until he forgot. 

It made me so sad to think of all of the stories he would never tell again. All of the things I would never know about him or his life as they got swallowed up in the darkness of his mind.  

I was sad...until I remembered he always kept the most important story of all tucked away. He remembered Christ and His love. In prayers he would ask that we always remember who we were and what we were. We are children of God, and he knew that. I know that too. 

I was upset with all that time had taken from me. The grandpa I grew up was becoming a more and more distant memory as it went on. Time had made his memories fuzzy, with the same bits and muddled pieces of stories often being told over and over again. 

I was upset...until I remembered time actually does heal all wounds even if not the way I would like or expect. I would be able to read the stories he recorded for us. I would be able to look back at all of the pictures we took where he got in my little tent with me or climbed on a bronze bear with Ryan and me. I would have the memories of all of the trips we took together and all of the fun we had. I had stories to tell as well. 

I was disappointed when we would drive up to his house with an empty flagpole. It was just one more thing to remind me of how much he had changed. He probably didn't even know where the flag was kept anymore. 

I was disappointed...until I remembered that he was the one who taught me to love my country and its flag but more importantly to always look up. I would look up, past the empty flagpole to the big blue sky. To see the birds or look at the different clouds or the specific color of blue our world was that day. He taught me to see the beauty in the world around me, and that is always something I will carry with me. 

I had a deep longing to hear him whistling again. Oh, how I missed that sound! 

I had a longing...until I remembered my brother could whistle as well. This wasn't something I would have to live entirely without. Any time I hear my brother whistle or I even hear a bird whistling away I would think of my grandpa and smile. 

I worried he tried to do too much sometimes. He would come out to work in the yard during the heat of the day or he would want to go somewhere that I worried would be too far or a step would be too big. 

I worried...until I remembered all he had done in his life. Unfortunately, no matter how old you get the work is never done. He would often forget what he was doing not too far in, so I didn't have to worry for long. And, as we would continue to work he would always tell us how much he appreciated us for doing whatever it was (after letting us know he had planned on coming out and doing it later). 

I was hurt that he forgot my name. Hurt that greetings were not individualized anymore, and sometimes he even believed me to be his youngest daughter, Diana. 

I was hurt...until I remembered he still held that deep love for me. A name is just a name, but love lasts forever. And, there are MUCH worse things than being thought to be my Aunt Diana whom I adore. He always knew he loved me even when he couldn't recognize my face or remember my name. He still gives me those tight hugs as I go to leave, even as his strength wanes. He still looks at me with his eyes with rings of color like bullseyes, and I see nothing but love that has transcended all of this. 

The symbol for Dementia Action Week is a forget me not flower. In the UK people wear them much like we wear various colored ribbons in the US for cancer awareness. Here is my forget me not, a badge to always remember what dementia has taken from me and so many others around the world as well as remember how I can carry on my grandpa's stories and legacy. I "wear" it proudly for my grandpa.