Once upon a midnight dreary

My grandma’s dying. In a way, that’s not news. She has Alzheimer’s, which means we’ve been losing bits and pieces of who she is for years. Six years ago, she was teaching my baby sister arithmetic. Four years ago, she was still successfully living on her own. Three years ago, she could have a reasonable conversation, as long as it was within her comfortable range of topics. One year ago, she would always recognize Mama, me, my uncle - the people she really cared about. She would sometimes use the wrong name, but there was some sort of communication. Six months ago, she still had opinions, even if she no longer had words for them, and she was happy to see us. Two weeks ago, she seemed to take some comfort from my presence, though I don’t think she had any understanding of who I was.

 

Yesterday, she stopped being able to swallow. Mama says she’s opened her eyes, but not actually seen anything. I haven’t even seen her do that. She was waving her arms around in her sleep yesterday. Today, she was lying very still and breathing heavily. Soon she will stop doing that, too.

 

I can’t stop thinking about it. Mama sent me home from the nursing home, said she didn’t want me to be there. I’ll go back tomorrow, of course. But for now - I’m desperately trying to think of anything else, and nothing helps.