Forever Alma

I know I should probably write about the article I’m working on, or what great new products I’m loving right now, and I will, I’ll get to those things, in another entry, at another time, but tonight I need to write about something else, about how fast time flies, even when it seems you’re standing still.

After much coercing on my part (and whining, begging and pleading on my husband’s), it was decided that we’d make tonight a cuddle-up-on-the-couch-and-watch-a-chick-flick kind of Friday night. I knew what I was getting myself into when I popped in The Notebook. (I’ve seen it a zillion times, though, to my credit, it has been months since I last watched it.) But I did it anyway. I thought I’d be OK.

I was wrong.

If you’re not familiar with the title, here’s the general idea: it’s a beautiful story about the romance of two young teens (each other’s first loves) who, by society’s standards, should never be together, but according to the crazy language of love, should never be apart. While the romance and the drama of “Will they or won’t they?” is enough to draw in even the harshest of cynics, it’s the part of the movie that captures what dementia looks like through the eyes of a loved one that truly captivates my soul.

My grandmother, Alma, is battling dementia and it breaks my heart. When I was little I would go and stay for weeks at a time with her and my grandpa Raymond. I loved being with them, they made even the littlest things seem so incredibly special. Grandpa would go to work, leaving us “girls” to go on long walks around the neighborhood, get ice cream cones at Dairy Queen where everyone always knew her name, and crafts, oh the crafting we would do together. I didn’t know then how special those memories would be to me now and I cling to them — I cling to them with enough strength for the both of us because I know I’m now the only one who remembers.

I think I could handle cancer or heart disease or some other equally difficult condition, but watching my Grandma, seeing the true essence of her soul that I have loved for so long, be replaced by someone I don’t even know, someone who barely knows me, wreaks havoc on my heart. When I see her or talk to her, I feel like that little girl again who so desperately wants to sit at her Grandma’s kitchen table and glue together sequins and popsicle sticks.

I do not feel old enough, mature enough to handle this, perhaps no one does. I wonder when I became this grown woman, this adult with her own life and her own family whose Grandma is no longer the vivacious spirit of her childhood. Where has the time gone? And how do I make it stop?

After watching the movie, I called my mom and told her I wanted to write Grandma (her mom) a letter, but I didn’t know what to say, I was/am afraid she won’t know who I am. “Write what’s in your heart,” she said. “You need to do it. For you. She may not understand, but she’ll hand your letter to Grandpa and he’ll explain it so that she does. Be sure to send a picture so she can see you.”

So I did. And I have vowed to keep writing. Grandma has always loved getting letters — the old-fashioned kind that seems a lost art in today’s e-mail and IM world. I will write to my Grandma until I have no words left and then I will write until I find new ones. She may not be as concerned with what I write, but more with the fact that I wrote, and that is enough. I can’t make time stop, each year it only seems to quicken its step, but at least for the moment I can document the here and now and share it, in some small way, with the Grandma I hold so dearly in my heart.

Your letter’s in the mail.

much love~
tessa