Grandparents

My grandmother is dying. She is pushing 96 and has led a very good life. Last August we were privileged to watch her and my grandfather celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. I watched them dance together one more time and smiled. When they kissed my daughter groaned and asked if all grown ups have to kiss.

While my daughter groaned I smiled and wondered about their good fortune. They have known each other since they were 11, started dating some time after that. Eighty-five years later they are still together, except something is beginning to tear them apart.

You see, my grandmother is suffering from dementia. I hate typing that because it does a disservice to her. It makes her sound less than who she was and in most ways still is. A very intelligent and exceptionally strong woman.

But the intelligent and strong woman is losing bits and pieces of her memory. Chunks of time are just gone without explanation or a formal goodbye. Alongside of the memory loss is a muddying of the waters of time, confusion about where she is and what is going on.

Yesterday she asked my grandfather if he thought that they should get married. Later she told him that she needed to go grocery shopping because her parents and his were coming for dinner. 2010 turned into 1934 into 1956, 1987 and then back to 2010.

My grandfather is beside himself. She is the great love of his life. Several years ago he told me that one of the hardest things to accept about getting old was knowing that he couldn’t just pick her up and carry her out the door anymore.

I asked him why he needed to carry her. He told me that it wasn’t something that he expected to do, but he was worried that if something happened to her he wouldn’t be able to give her the care that she needed.

But this memory loss and confusion is harder on him than that. He fears that one day she won’t know who he is anymore and that she’ll be lost while she is still here.

He tells me again that in spite of her white hair he still sees the girl he fell in love with. Ensconced in his recliner he holds onto my arm and tells me story after story. I know most of them, but not all. And even though I know some I like hearing them.

With a sly grin he tells me that he never doubted that he would marry grandma, but when you are twenty years old and in love with a good girl getting married sooner than later sounds like a good idea. I smile again, and realize that my grandfather just gave me background about his sex life. Not so sure that I want to hear that, but ok.

Some days grandma is really there and some days less so. I don’t tell him that if she forgets who I am I will be upset. I’ll be understanding of it, how can I not be. But after 40 years of having grandparents it is hard to accept that one day I won’t have any, let alone that one might not know me.

My mother quizzes me about my visits. She understands the situation and recognizes the future, but we never want to say goodbye to our parents. It doesn’t matter how old you are, it is nice to have them around.

Goodbyes are hard. I have never liked them. I rarely say it to those I care most about. It is easier to say “see you later.” Don’t know how much longer we’ll have with my grandparents.I hope that it is for quite some time.

I am doing my best to take it all day-by-day, but it is hard not to feel like this is a long goodbye.

My grandparents are celebrating their 75th Wedding anniversary today. In honor of the occasion I sent out a press release. Here is a copy of it, and yes, the names have been changed.

During an age in which almost half of every marriage ends in divorce there are still people who possess the secret to a life time of love.

On July 27th Daniel and Anne Simpson will celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. The Simpsons are childhood sweethearts who met at age 11 and now at 95 years old are celebrating a milestone that few couples are capable of matching.

There is a long list of changes that have taken place during their lifetime. They have lived to see 17 different presidents, witnessed two world wars, multiple regional conflicts, the Great Depression, Watergate, the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, the collapse of The Ottoman Empire, the Civil Rights movement and much more.

They witnessed the rise of the automobile, space travel and the moon landing, proliferation of personal computers and cell phones.

It really isn’t an exaggeration to say that the world has undergone tremendous change during their lives, but in spite of it all they managed to raise a family.

When asked to explain the secret to their long lasting marriage and enduring love Mr. Simpson responded that it came down to many things, but the most important component was the ability to compromise.

“People say that marriage takes work and it does, but Daniel never made it feel like work. He was always involved in so many things,” explained Anne.

Involved is a good way to describe a man who interviewed Al Capone and hid in a closet so that he could meet Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

“When times were hard we helped keep each other going, Anne deserves a lot of credit for helping to give me the strength to keep going when it was rough. But we have far more good memories than bad,” said Daniel.

P.S. Since one day my children will read this blog I am trying to organize posts so that they can follow along. Click on the grandparents link and that will take you to many other posts in which I discussed my grandparents. Or you can sift through the following:

The Bearer of Bad Tidings- One Less Set of Footsteps
Pictures, Videos and Memories
My Grandfather Laid Tefillin
The Challenge of Aging
The World’s Fastest 95 Year-Old Man
Passing The Baton- Grandma is 94
Not Quite Goodbye- And Some other Thoughts
And Then He Died
I Talk In My Sleep

Three years ago I stood in the emergency room of the hospital and listened to the doc explain that my grandfather had died. And then I went to the room in which his body lay and say with him. I wrote about that moment in The Bearer of Bad Tidings- One Less Set of Footsteps.

Two thoughts come to mind about that post. I can’t read it without choking up a little. It is raw and it captured the moment so well that three years later I still feel it. But I was and still am very appreciative of the comments. It was one of those moments where I knew without a doubt that the blogosphere is a real community.

It is hard to believe that three years have gone by, especially when I think about all that has happened. Some of the hardest and most challenging moments of my life lie before me and I sorely miss his advice and support. I would have liked to have been able to discuss some of this with him.

He would have listened and shared some thoughts. Chances are he would have told me a story or two. I never got tired of them. Grandpa was a very fine storyteller. He did an excellent job of painting a picture that you could see.

In my mind’s eye I have a million images of the Chicago of his youth and the things that he did. It is not hard to imagine what life in the carnival business was like, winters in New Orleans or the things that he did in the army.

He would have taken so much pleasure from his great-grandchildren. It makes me a little sad that the dark haired beauty has completely forgotten him. Sure, she knows his name and recognizes his picture, but she doesn’t remember him. She doesn’t remember how he came to the hospital the day she was born and held her or how he told me that it was ok to make sure that her boyfriends were afraid of me.

So many good memories and so many stories to tell. He took me to my first Dodger game. Taught me how to throw a punch and told me that if I hit someone to make sure that I was ready to take what came afterwards.

When I was learning how to drive he took me out, had me drive back and forth through Laurel Canyon and around Farmer’s Market. There were movies and lunches and so much more.

One of my favorite memories comes from my sister’s wedding. I wrote about it in a post, but I can’t remember exactly where. I really should find it because it is a great story and it deserves to be told properly.

A handful of years later I find myself visiting my grandfather at the hospital. We’re exchanging stories and he is filling me in on his health. He tells me that if he had known that he was going to live so long he would have taken better care of himself. I tell him that I am sure that he is going to be around another twenty years.

He shakes his head and tells me no. He is serious and he looks me in the eye and says that he knows that the finish line can’t be that far away. Tells me that he is going to fight for every breath and that if there is a such a thing as the angel of death, he is going to kick the crap out of him.

I laugh and ask him how. He smiles and tells me that he’ll punch him in the nose and that when the tears well up in the angel’s eyes he’ll slip out the door. We both laugh at this and then we are silent.

A few minutes later he closes his eyes to go to sleep and I look around the room. Beeps and whistles and the whirring noises of various machines are all that I can hear. I move closer and am comforted to hear him breathing peacefully.

Not so long afterwards I am alone in a hospital room with him. This time there is no peaceful breathing, no snoring. Although his hands are still warm I know that in a short time they won’t be any longer.

For a moment I stare at his body and inside my head I can hear someone say, “and then he died.”

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