Growing up is something every child wants to do but something every adult wants to stop doing.
By the time I reached seventh-eighth grade, the feeling of growing up started to mellow down a little bit. However, little to my knowledge, my mind and body would soon be tested to extreme lengths. It was in this year when my grandmother developed Dementia- a form of Alzheimer's. My family first noticed something was wrong when we went to the house that she shared with my grandfather for dinner. I expected to eat some of my grandmother’s delicious moist brisket but the surprise I got was completely different. Everything for the dinner was already on the table except for the main course. After waiting a total of 30 minutes, my brothers and I started to become restless and whine. My grandmother then hurried off to the kitchen and exclaimed: “I can’t believe this, I forgot to turn the oven on.” I didn’t notice this at the time, but my parents have told me that they exchanged very concerned looks with each other at this point. They knew that this was a sign pointing towards something that wasn’t very good. Forgetting to turn the oven on may seem like something small but it was the final tipping point for my mom who had been noticing my grandmother’s memory slipping for a while now. I honestly thought it was just because she was getting old. I don’t think my young brain could handle the possibility that my grandmother may be sick. I still remember when my parents told me the devastating news. They sat me and my brothers down and said: “Grandma and Grandpa are going to move.” We asked, “Why?” My mom began crying and, for one of the first few times, I saw a tear stream down my father’s face. Both of my parents often try to stay strong and show no emotion around us. I remember looking at my mom with tears in my own eyes now and asking, "Why are they moving?” My father took my hands and said “Michelle, Grandma is sick; she is starting to forget things, she needs to move into an assisted living. That way people will always be around her and they will always be there to help her. Don’t worry, Grandpa won’t leave her alone. He loves her too much.” This took some pressure off my shoulders but at the same time, I still felt terrible. I love my grandmother very much because we have a very special connection that is hard for me to explain, just like the connection I have with my mom. “Is she going to be okay?” I asked now completely balling. “She is going to be fine,” my father said rubbing my arm, comforting me. “She just needs more help now from all of us.” As he said this statement, he looked at me and then my brothers and back again. For the next few years, I lived in fear that something had happened to my grandmother. Those were probably some of the toughest years of my life because I didn't know what was going to happen. Between the fits my grandmother would have, the fight my grandmother would put up so she wouldn’t have to take her medicine, the frustration my grandfather faced, the sadness my mother felt that she never admitted to, and so much more. For some time I was actually afraid to go visit my grandmother because I didn’t feel that sense of stability anymore. I remember telling my parents, "She isn’t my grandma. That isn’t my grandma.” I regret not visiting as much and saying those things now, and I wish I could go back. I really had to step up and honestly I’m glad I did. It taught me to be a better person and I’m proud of myself for that.
