My life seems to be revolving around strange conversations on the telephone this week. I got a voice message from my mother last night. It seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. There were no warnings of urgency to call her back in the message. Still, I called her right away.

After the normal three to five minutes of conversation about how we all were doing, she decides to tell me that my grandparents took my great grandmother to the hospital. It was thought that she was having a heart attack. The doctors found no sign of it upon examination and testing but stated that she was definitely losing her battle with Alzheimer’s disease. It is progressing quickly. They admitted her for dehydration. It seems she has been refusing to eat or drink for the last three days. My stomach is turning at the realization that the end is looming. I have been dreading this for a long time, yet I want her suffering to be over. It is a strange horrible feeling.

People I have known, talked to, and been friends with have stated that it seems that it would be much easier to deal with the loss of a great grandparent than the loss of a grandparent or parent. Considering their age, the general health complications that come with being older, and because most people spend less time with their great grandparents and more with grandparents and parents, making them emotionally closer to the latter. It doesn't make it easier. It is actually more difficult for me.

The fact that all of my grandparents are living would lead most to believe that I am very fortunate. Yet those of you who know me personally would agree that instead, it is indeed unfortunate.

I don't see or talk to neither my maternal grandparents nor my paternal grandparents. There are various valid reasons why in each circumstance, those of which I cannot speak of publicly. It is not the alienation, but the complications of that alienation that grieves me most. The actions of the guilty, and the guilt of those who protect them, have completely twisted my relationship with everyone I call family into a nightmare.

I cannot go to my great grandmothers deathbed and say goodbye properly. I can't explain to her why I have spent the last three years in silence and exile. I can't tell her I love her and that she is, in fact, the best grandmother I have ever known. I can’t tell her how proud I am that I am named after her, and that my baby is named after her also. I can't tell her that every time I wrap my babies in the hand stitched quilts she made for me that it reminds me of the only times of innocence in my life. The times of visiting her house and looking at all of her pictures and listening to her tell me stories about when she was a little girl. I felt happy when I was with her. I felt comfortable and safe in her house. I can’t tell her how much I wish my children had known her better. I cannot tell her how sorry I am that I had to move them away and never return. She doesn’t know that I think about her, and the people I love there, daily.

What is more devastating to me is that she wouldn’t know me at this point anyway. She isn’t the same person she was three years ago. I am told she has become infantile at times and delusional at others. She talks to her mother who stands at the foot of her bed in the darkness, and rants about her husband being late for dinner. He died when I was a tiny girl. She doesn’t recognize her children and she tries to run away from home. Some days she can walk, others she can’t do anything for herself.

She has to be watched around the clock. I feel badly for my maternal grandmother. She promised to always take care of her and never put her in a nursing home. I admire her for that. I am sure her heart is torn apart right now. I love her deeply despite these problems.

I discussed attending the funeral with my mother. She assured me that my great grandmother would have understood why I couldn’t make it. I felt like biting my lip through. That was not comforting. How could she understand? No one made an effort to explain. Everyone there is bewildered by my actions. Some live in fear of the truth being told. That is my only consolation.

Regrettably, I will not attend the funeral of my great grandmother because of these complications. I blame myself partly. I care too much about protecting the innocent people whom would be hurt by the truth. The people I protect probably hate me. There is no way to explain my actions without revealing things that would tear them apart. Those that judge me harshly have me to thank for their blind happiness, and they don’t even realize it. And in my silence, they never will.

Posted by gwendolyn on January 12, 2001 at 10:38 AM