What's On My Plate?

Sometimes, events take place that put things into perspective and do it in a hurry. When we got home from the zoo, I had a voice mail from my mom. Her mom, my Grandma George, had been hit by a car. She had a broken arm, was in surgery, had lacerations on her head and lots of bruises. How in the heck does a 75 year old person get hit by a car?

My Grandma has advanced Alzheimer's/Dementia. She doesn't know my mom, me, Marti, or even my Grandpa anymore. She has lost lots of weight and often wears clothing from one season with clothing from another. She carries toothpaste and other random items in her purse. My Grandpa has been trying to care for her on his own, insisting she is getting better. The dementia my Grandma experiences manifests itself through violent and combative outbursts. We've been dealing with these outbursts for about 12 years. One of the ways she expresses frustration, anxiety, or fear is to runaway.

She asked my Grandpa to take her to Oakland (she grew up in CA and spent many, many years in the Bay Area before they moved to Idaho). Grandpa told her he couldn't take her then. While he was sleeping, she took off. She ended up on the highway and was clipped by a car at an intersection. Thankfully, her injuries are relatively minor.

This is the 3rd time in the last 6 months she has had an incident in the public. The police know who she is and her situation. My mom and uncle have tried to convince Grandpa to get help, seek out support and if necessary, find a safe setting for Grandma. But, he has stubbornly resisted their efforts. I'm sure it is scary for him, too. He's losing his wife. He's trying to support her, redeem for his sins as a husband by caring for her, and maintain his independence all while drowning in the process.

Needless to say, this will be the final straw. My Grandma has been assigned a case worker and has 24 hour monitoring in the hospital. You're probably wondering how it got to this point. Why didn't the family do something earlier? Because of her type of dementia, she will not allow a strange person in her home to help. I know my family has been reluctant to get help because she will assault any person who is in her home that she does not feel good about. She will also become combative with my Grandpa if he tries to restrain her. Now, my Grandma is a tough lady and will kick your butt. She has lived a hard life and will come out like a rabid raccoon if you push her. Knowing this, my Grandpa has refused help in the home - for the safety of the caregiver. And, of course, he doesn't want to put her in a facility. However, with this latest incident, I'm sure for every one's safety, a facility is the best place for Grandma.

My mom's life will change dramatically as she assumes a more active role as guardian and caregiver during this process. Her relationship with my Grandpa will be at risk as the protection of my Grandma takes precedence over his need to provide. Her work my suffer. And lastly, the reality that her mom is no longer here for her has set in - in the most final of ways. Even though my Grandma's body is here, my mom is losing her mom. Whether over the course of 10 years or 10 days, losing your parent is a club no one wants to belong to.

Suddenly, a down well and lawn by October seem insignificant. It's a normal progression to watch your loved ones enter, live and leave this earth. However, all of the things you thought were important are suddenly blurs in the background when something like this comes into full focus. So, the timing of machine rentals to get the landscaping done, the importance of riding lessons, not having the money to buy a new washing machine, the air conditioning in my car that only comes out the defrost vents, the stains on the carpet, the peed on sheets, etc., etc., are really just small blips on a much bigger screen. It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day activities and allow them to define your life. Ultimately, though, these moments, eternal moments, are what define us as people. The passing of souls through the veil, either into this earth or from it, are earthquakes on our personal Richter scales. This is the big stuff that really matters in the eternal picture of life. I hope it won't take these types of events to help me remember that. Every time our little peanut makes herself known by kicking my ribs, each time Lexi says, "I love you Momma" or sings a new Primary hymn, when I talk to my loved ones, and when I pray to my Heavenly Father, I hope I'll feel the small tremors on my personal Richter scale and know I've just experienced something eternal.