The Husband’s only living grandparent, his maternal grandmother, has Alzheimer’s.  She lives with her youngest son and his wife and their cat. 

She lived with her middle son and his wife, son and her only living daughter until she fell and broke her hip in February.  She recovered from the fracture and surgery very well.  She moves so quickly. 

But she has no idea that her only brother and all but one of her sisters are dead.  She thinks her middle son is her brother.  She thinks my mother-in-law is still alive.  She hasn’t called me by name in months.

The thing is, she is happy.  Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know how many loved ones she has lost.  Maybe it’s because the Lord has wiped from her memory the painful, abusive marriage she withstood for decades.  Maybe it’s because she has right now and has no worries about tomorrow.  Maybe it’s because she is in a home where she is loved and protected and nurtured.

Twice a month, I stay with her, my husband’s grandmother, Gran.  I keep her company.  I make sure she doesn’t leave the house.  I cook (or reheat) lunch for her.  I watch tv with her.  I talk to her.  I listen to her, the rare times she talks.  I ask her about her life as she grew up.  I let her tell me whatever she wants.  I thank my Lord for this time to get to know her.

From our trip to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park last month.  This was taken at the Palmer house, where we often picnic and watch the elk feed.


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