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It was hard to watch her fail. Physically she was growing
thinner and more
stooped. Mentally she was losing her ability to sort out reality.
Initially, my grandmother had railed angrily against the symptoms of
Alzheimer's disease that were eroding who she had always been.
Eventually, the anger gave way to frustration and then resignation. My
grandmother had always been a strong woman. She had a career before it was
even common for women to have careers. She was independent. In her
eighties, she was still dragging out her stepladder every spring to wash all
the windows in her house. She was also a woman with a deep faith in God.
As my grandmother lost her ability to live alone, my father moved her into
his home. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren were often in the house.
She seemed to enjoy being surrounded by the noise and activity of a large,
extended family.
As she slipped further away from us mentally, my grandmother would
occasionally have moments of lucidity when she knew where she was and
recognized everyone around her. We never knew what prompted those moments,
when they would occur or how long they would last.
Toward the end of her life she became convinced that her mother had knit
everything she owned. "Mama knit my boots," she would tell strangers,
holding up a foot clad in galoshes. "Mama knit my coat," she would say with
a vacant smile as she zipped up her raincoat. Soon we were putting on her
boots for her and helping her zip up her coat.
During my grandmother's last autumn with us, we decided to take a family
outing. We packed up the cars and went to a local fair for a day of caramel
apples, craft booths and carnival rides. Grandma loved flowers, so my dad
bought her a rose. She carried it proudly through the fair, stopping often
to breathe in its fragrance.
Grandma couldn't go on the carnival rides, of course, so she sat on a bench
close by and waited while the rest of the family rode. Her moments of
lucidity were now a thing of the past having eluded her for months, but she
seemed content to sit and watch as life unfolded around her.
While the youngest members of the family ran, laughing to get in line at the
next ride, my father took my grandmother to the nearest bench. A
sullen-looking young woman already occupied the bench but said she wouldn't
mind sharing the bench. "Mama knit my coat," my grandmother told the young
woman as she sat down.
We didn't let my grandmother out of our sight, and when we came back to the
bench to get her, the young woman was holding the rose. She looked as
though she had been crying. "Thank you for sharing your grandmother with
me," she said. Then she told us her story. She had decided that day was to
be her last on Earth. In deep despair and feeling she had nothing to live
for, she was planning to go home and commit suicide. While she sat on that
bench with Grandma as the carnival noises swirled around them, she found
herself pouring out her troubles.
"Your grandmother listened to me," the young woman informed us. "She told me
about a time in her own life, during the Depression, when she had lost hope.
She told me that God loved me and that He would watch over me and would help
me make it through my problems. She gave me this rose. She told me that my
life would unfold just like this rose and that I would be surprised by its
beauty. She told me my life was a gift. She said she would be praying for
me."
We stood, dumbfounded, as she hugged my grandmother and thanked her for
saving her life. Grandma just smiled a vacant smile and patted her arm. As
the young woman turned to leave, she waved good-bye to us. Grandma waved
back and then turned to look at us, still standing in amazement.
"Mama knit my hat," she said.
By Sara L. Henderson
Midi: Farther Along