Been a long while since I wrote about death, and how it touches my routine. Although there were reasons for me to talk about it in the last couple of years, somehow it passed past me to mention about those thoughts.
Back in 2018, a grandmother of mine died after a long and tiresome list of health issues. In this case, I wasn’t that moved by it. The reason was simply, because I was already counting on it. Her character was shattered for more than two years before she passed away and that made me grow cold from interacting with her, as I disregarded her entirely. If that makes me a bad, senseless person, so be it.
I watched from afar, as her personality kept losing fragment after fragment within her own mind and how much it cost my father to treat her in such a state. As if it’s not bad enough already to lose your own motor functions, losing complete notion of yourself, the ability to think properly and to communicate. It is probably what I fear the most to happen to me, to forget the memories and the personality that makes me, the person that I am.
However, the dementia does not specifically affect the patient in terms of how happy or sad he/she is. It simply grows within, without the patient becoming much aware of it. Now, as for the family and the people around the patient, the matter is entirely different. Lately, my remaining grandmother had a series of small strokes, she can move a little and even walk on her own, with guidance, but her ability to speak or to be coherent is definitely lacking. And since it affects the mind, even with proper functions to move, she’s always in danger of doing something reckless and get herself in harm’s way.
While celebrating Christmas, sure we even joked about the situation and interacted with her, but deep down, I kinda figured that everyone had the “better laugh than cry about it” proverb being applied. And what bothers me, is that the woman whom had a very present hand on my childhood, who molded me as well and is responsible in part for what I am today… She no longer exists. She’s there, but she’s not there. And to me, this is already part of the grieving process, though she’s still alive, I notice that my mother and her siblings are having a hard time dealing with the whole situation which points me to think… How will I handle, when the connection that brought me to this world begins to fade?