I always knew

I can’t even begin to express how overwhelmed i feel at this very moment. Primarily, I can barely stand the fact that every time i go home to visit I see my grandpa in a state I have never seen him before. Dont get me wrong, I love him all the same… it just hurts to watch him die. To know that even though my love for him will never change, cognitively, his love for me is changing. Sometimes he looks at me like he doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t doubt that sometimes he forgets, but sometimes he does remember me… but the only thing he’s been saying to me is “why do you have to go to school?” it makes me feel all the more guillty to be where I am. My grandparents are my driving force for a lot things but I’m loosing him. The only fear I’ve ever expressed was my fear of loosing my grandparents and now it becomes a reality more and more. Everytime I think of them I get that lump in my throat, my eyes turn a little red, I start to blink x10s more, and my nose becomes stuffy. It’s not that I want to throw a pity party and deny the facts of life, no, it’s just I wasn’t ready for it to happen so quickly. I haven’t prepared myself enough. The truth is that my love will remain constant even his memory decides to take me away from mind. As long as I continue to let him know that I love him I know I’ll be doing the right thing.

So I’ll breath deep and maybe cry a little but I’ll always love and love conquers all.

I'll take the time to reflect once more on who I was 9, er, 10 or so years ago. Because I never realized that these entries would impact me as an adult. I always thought of them as a way to guide the younger, somehow even dumber, versions of me.

Yet here I am, at recently 30 and reading the musing of a 21 to 20-year-old version of me. I worked my ass off. From then to now. Looking for answers to quell the pain I felt and knew was coming since I was 12 years old and my Lolo was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.

I read, I fought, I cried, I advocated, I researched, I took classes, I studied, I traveled, I fought, I questioned, I wrote, you died, I researched, I taught classes, I spoke out in public, I traveled, I questioned, I wrote, I advocate. I tried. I try. I mourn, I'm crying, I lucid dream anytime I dream of you, I think of you in every paper, every sentence, every book, every face I see.

I'm in the same pain.

I struggle, I toss, I turn, I'm in the same pain. But--I won't quit. I have helped others through you. I remember giving the strength to the daughter that was watching her dad die in the same way we all watched you die. I don't mean that long death that Alzheimer's promises. I mean, that last moment in your bed. The part no one talks about, to add insult to injury of the questionable unknown.

Where you're struggling to breathe but we kept the faith that hospice has done their job to make you comfortable. So that the only discomfort is in our sensory perception of your breath and not actually aligned to what you feel or perceive. She was so mad at me, at her father, at death. She was ready to hang up. But your story--through me gave her courage to tell her children. To break her pride, to be vulnerable. Even in death-you were generous. You gave her the support of her kids and her father the presence of two generations.

You knew this, didn't you? Before you slipped away from our comprehension, you made this deal with the universe, didn't you? To give at any expense. I can see you smiling as if I finally came to the realization of what it was all about.

There had to be another way.