Day 24: Could’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve

I’m going to take a moment to sincerely apologize for my lack of commitment to this project. I should have completed Day 30 sometime last week, and now am just getting to Day 24’s entry. It’s not that I don’t want to see through what I’ve started and would feel undeniably guilty for not keeping a goal that has been so publicly shared. It’s that life gets complicated.

I started last week with the intent of getting through as many entries as I could before a brief planned break for an out-of-town wedding. It didn’t happen.

I had been thinking a lot, as I often do, about visiting my grandma. She is the only living grandparent I have and will be turning 92 in a little over a month. She lives in an assisted living home not that far from me, and yet it is so easy to let time, sometimes months go by, without going to visit her. I make excuses and then feel badly I don’t go. Even though she has been a huge part of my life, I struggle to make the time. I am aware of how selfish it is.

She has never been much of what I would consider to be independent lady. After moving in with my parents in early 2000, she left her familiar surroundings, gave up the few friends she was in contact with, discontinued her activities and stopped driving. I always thought it was too early. She wasn’t even 80 yet. But this was her choice. I worried she had already decided to give up and wondered how much longer she had.

Over the next few years, life changed for everyone in the family with marriages, divorces, kids, and new jobs. Dementia was developing. I still get confused on the differences between dementia and Alzheimer’s. She has never been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which has been a blessing. Doctors say that dementia is a symptom and Alzheimer’s is the cause of that symptom (but not always, in this case). Regardless, her short-term memory went from bad to worse and she had trouble recognizing people she had been the most close to.

When she went to assisted living, she was still relatively capable of taking care of herself. Then, she fell and broke her wrist. She was going to need more help. Still in assisted living, she is rarely left alone and is no longer cooking for herself.

Keeping track of when her fall happened or even how long she has been under assisted care is a blur to me. She has been one of those women who, despite the feelings of wanting to give up from time to time, muscles through and lives on. It’s remarkable really.

She is a little woman. Fragile and frail. We knew if she were to fall again, it would be bad. It could mean the end of her quality of life.

And so, as soon as last Monday, I was making my promise that I would go visit her when I got back from vacation. I needed to be better about it. On Tuesday, my mom called to let me know she was in the ER with a broken hip. I was too late on my promise.

Below the blankets in the hospital room, I swear I couldn’t even tell she had legs. It looked like her body was part of the bed. She has become so skinny I don’t know how her organs can pull her through this even though the doctors determine she is strong enough for surgery. But, she recognizes me. She says my name. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt knowing I haven’t seen her most of the summer, but have to let it go realizing she doesn’t care, she is just glad to see me. I want to be strong for my mom. I know this is very hard on her.

Statistics state that about 25% of patients who go through breaking a hip in their advanced years are gone within a year. Even though she had the surgery, she will need to be able to recover. To move freely. To walk. If she cannot, it is difficult to know what will happen. Inevitably, it could mean that I will never again visit her in the place she was living. She will have to go to a nursing home. And then what?

I don’t know how to handle aging. I don’t think I’m afraid of death, but at some point, I seem to tell myself I can’t deal with it. That I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ll just close my eyes until it’s all over. If it’s part of the cycle of life that everyone goes through, why is it so hard for me to see? For me to accept?

I remember how excited we would get knowing grandma was coming when living overseas as kids. It was awesome to have any visitors from the U.S., but there was always something special about her visits. I remember her townhouse, her pool, how she would let us pick out a toy at the grocery store, trips to Disney and other fun destinations, her peaches and sugar dish, cobblers of every kind, how she was the only other person in the world I would allow to sleep with my stuffed dog Baxter when she’d come to stay overnight, and her support of me no matter what it was I wanted to be. Soft spoken and kind, it’s always difficult to see what something like dementia can do to the mind.

The beauty of the symptom, if there can be a silver lining? Long-term memory is crystal clear even if she cannot recall two hours ago. It would be a shame for me to let her slip away without getting to hear everything she may have to say. I have to believe I will get to do this. I will not sit idly by waiting for the call.

Before surgery last week, I sat by her bedside with my mom and aunt in the room. For as weak as I thought she looked, her grip on my hand was stronger than I thought it could be. Not being as big on physical contact other than the hug here and there, I could not remember the last time we had sat like this holding hands. She told me she loved me and I told her I loved her. I kissed her on the forehead before leaving. From this moment forward, things would be different.

She told me on her birthday last year that she hoped she would not see this year’s birthday. I explained to her how much she has to live for and how loved she is. She is so strong, she’ll be around for a long time. But I am not her. I cannot know what is going through her mind. Her soul. She has lived a remarkable life and if she could think through even the most recent years, would not be disappointed with all she has done and how much she means to so many people. But I do understand that, at some point, you decide enough is enough. You want to go out on a good note leaving a legacy of happiness and goodness. I know this is what she wants.

Even though I keep hoping she is not right in what she said to me last year, I know only she can make that decision. When God says it’s time, it’s time.

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. I hate that. I hate that I do that. It’s never too late, right? Until one day, it is.