Dying is an interesting thing to go through. Every morning, I wake up, get shuffled to the bathroom, and then get fed breakfast. It’s hard to even remember what I live for anymore. I just know that I must hold on. I have my good days and my bad days. I hate that people get angry with me just because I can’t remember things. I ask myself every day, “What did I do to deserve this, and how can I make it stop?” I want everyone to know that I love them, but the disease is slowly taking my body and mind over. Ten years have passed since I have been what society calls the overused word “normal”. Ten years, my family has sacrificed their priorities, dreams, and prayers just to take care of this little, old shell. I don’t believe I am worth it, but I am so glad they are still hanging on. I am an Alzheimer’s patient, and everyone around me is trapped in my disease.
Today, my granddaughter, Sarah, comes to watch me. I wake up to her kind voice whispering sweet blessings into my ear. The blessings dig their way to my soul and cause a smile to strike my tired face. I know that Sarah loves me, but I hate that the disease causes me to be impolite. She escorts me to the bathroom and cleans up the mess I made during the night. I don’t mean to make her do this. My Sarah-Boo is still little, she shouldn’t have to perform this horrendous task. Sarah is very gentle when she takes care of me. I don’t mean to hit, scratch, and slap her, but I do. After she feeds me some delicious cinnamon rolls, my stomach is full and she takes me to my favorite recliner. Sarah talks to me about how she was supposed to go with her friends to the movies, but instead, she would rather spend time with me. She repeats to me over and over that she loves me, and tells me not to worry, I will be better someday. I am glad someone still has hope. A teenager shouldn’t have to cancel her plans just to watch her own Nana. Sarah copes with the disease, but sometimes the fact that I can’t say her name makes her angry too. I hate when I make her fuss at me, but I know she tries to be as kind as she can. Every once in a while, the sadness of not having her Grandmother around weakens her and tears begin to rush from her eyes. She hugs me tightly and suggests we eat some lunch.
After lunch, she confesses her biggest dreams. She tells me her plan to move to New York City and become a Broadway star. I laugh and smile as she sings to me “Don’t Rain on My Parade” and applaud when she is done. Sarah says that if I am not better by the time she graduates college, she isn’t going to leave me. I want her to go, but there is no way of me communicating that to her. My thoughts are trapped in a prison called my brain, and no one has the key to unlock it. She feeds me a Hershey bar because she knows they’re my favorite and shows me her favorite wedding dresses. Sarah has always focused on the future. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better than today. I try to look, but the disease forces my eyes to dance around the room. She tells me that she wants me to be there when she picks out her wedding dress. I am so glad she still has hope. After she takes me to the restroom, she turns on some music to make me dance. Sarah always knows what will make me dance. Every day is a struggle, but dancing with my granddaughter makes that struggle a little bit easier.
The majority of the day, she prays for me. Sarah’s prayers are not like the others’ prayers. She doesn’t pray that I will get better; however, she prays I will be happy. She tells me that true happiness is the first step of healing. I must learn to love myself. Our family has been raised to put our trust in God, and he will do the rest. That’s exactly what Sarah does. She trusts that Jesus will make me whole. She tells me that I must stay strong and I must believe that I will get better. God is the one who holds the key to freeing my brain; we just have to want it bad enough. Jesus will give you the desires of your heart as long as they match up to His desires for you. I am trying to want to be healed: I do want to be healed. Sarah tells me that everything is in God’s hands, and He wouldn’t put something on our family that He knew we wouldn’t be able to handle. I must fully rely on God.
When I was five, my Nana was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. At ten years old, I took on the best responsibility I could by caring for her. My Nana is trapped inside of her own mind, and it is so hard for me to keep the faith. People say they know what I am going through, but I know they don’t. No one knows how you feel when your own Grandmother can’t even remember your name. Leaving her for college was one of the hardest things I have ever done. There is no medical cure for Alzheimer’s yet, but I know whatever happens is in God’s hands. I have learned how to disregard my own desires, my own dreams, and sacrifice my own prayers for others. Whatever you’re going through, it can always be worse. Sometimes, I like to think that God is teaching me patience, love, and faith through this experience. I was unprepared for this disease, but whatever the devil means for harm; God can turn it around for His Glory. If my Nana does not get healed on this Earth, though it may hurt, I will not be discouraged or give up hope. For I know that my God is for me, not against me.
