(Why can’t we be forever young)
I hate age. It’s just a number. But I mean the aging process. My grandmother is 100 years old. She fought in World War II in London. My Grandfather is 95. He also fought in World War II in Burma.
They are moving into an assisted living facility this Wednesday. They have lived independently until now, though my grandmother is so frail and riddled with dementia that she’s had 24 hour aides for a few years now. My grandfather is falling more and getting confused. I don’t know what my Dad means by “Confused”... does he mean he’s also falling victim to dementia?
I call my grandmother “Nanny”. She was in the military and worked for the military her whole life, so she was very strict growing up. I was such a free spirit we clashed sometimes. But when I was in my late 20′s we became so close, remaining close until the dementia took her from me about 4 years ago. Now she just sings incoherently or yells. I imagine it’s pretty scary to not know who anyone is or where you are.
I call my Grandfather “Grumpy” because he was too young to be called Grandpa when my sister was born, and it stuck. He served in the army all his life, though he switched to Canadian armed services when they moved to Canada. He was a Major. And now he falls a lot and is confused.
I want to talk to my dad about them but he’s in a lot of pain from seeing them so old and feeble like this. He’s the one moving them in on Wednesday. He gave me their address, it’s somewhere in Brighton and I live an hour away, with no car. Maybe my sister can take me. I’d like to see them again before the end. Even if they don’t know who I am. Grumpy should recognize my sister, she speaks to him more often. He doesn’t like me as much because we don’t have much in common. I wear my heart on my sleeve and he has his feelings hidden. But we always tell me we love each other, and we always hug goodbye.
I’m always afraid it’s going to be the last time...
