K. M.

 Coming to you from Celestive Eve Vivian Fayth Shen

My grandfather has always been this distant sort of background figure. A possible source of financial help. This stoic private man that didn't bother to tell anyone when he had cancer. The oldest of seven? nine? A lot of siblings. A hub. Retired, military, widowed. 

When I think about him I get sad, because he had a long life with my grandmother and then she was gone and he was still here. He got so used to signing both their names on cards and letters that he kept doing it, but he'd put her name in quotation marks. From Grandpop and "Grandma". My grandparents are/were also quite heavy with the hoarding. I hadn't been there since it got bad. I think my last trip there might have been over twenty years ago. I picture the house they spent most of their lives in as this sad mausoleum of memories and just stuff that they wanted to have but had no use for. From what my mom gleaned on her last visit, I think that was for my grandmother's funeral, it's just too much. Boxes and bric-a-brac piled chest high with narrow pathways. I haven't seen any pictures of all the stuff, I never know if my imaginings are better or worse than what it actually is. Sometimes I fantasize about there being just hidden riches somewhere in all the junk. Like maybe some of the dolls my grandmother loved to collect are worth several thousand dollars, and someone out there wants them, and then suddenly we're set for a long time. 

My grandfather has been supplementing our rent for a few years. When we lived upriver it was like 500$ + utilities. Here it's over 1200$ + utilities. So he's been sending my mom I think 500 a month. My aunt too. 

Sometimes I wonder where this help was when I was a kid. We were homeless. Like, a lot. From what I've gleaned, my mom never asked and he never offered. 

I don't know we all have these fuzzy cozy ideas of our grandparents. It's weird to find out "oh yeah he kicked me out of the house when I was 18" or "he punished us in such and such awful way". 

I'm all over the place, here.

My grandfather turned 91 last month and has what is likely dementia, and is definitely cognitive decline. He's at a facility of some sort right now. He had a doctor's appointment last week, and he was "confused". I have no idea in what way. I keep thinking "oh god, what if he thought my grandma was still alive". The thought of him having to re-learn that makes me feel sick. The thought of having to be the person to tell him that makes me feel sick. Whatever confusion it was, they admitted him for it. 

I wasn't exactly shocked. He's 91. He lives alone. 

I've had this awful feeling since January that this was the year my grandfather would die. I think it was an intrusive thought pretending to be a premonition, but it came up a few times prior to this news. But guessing that a 91 year old man might die this year is like guessing a dog might lick its own asshole on a given day.

Anyway. My mom keeps talking about how he drove himself there as proof that it can't be too bad yet. But. That could just be 70+ years of muscle memory working in his favor. I've thought it was fucking insane that he was still driving himself around. Especially because he DOES get confused even just on the phone with my mom sometimes. Nothing terribly dramatic, like forgetting he'd already said something, or him being hard to follow when he talks. Like I said. 91. Living alone. He actually goes out more than I do, but he still spent more of his time alone than me. I have a mom and cats with me. He has an empty house and the ghost of my grandmother. I feel like it's harder to keep your mind sharp if you're just sitting alone not talking all day.

I realize I'm sort of describing myself here. But as I said, I have my mom. I have someone I talk to and laugh with every day. I interact with people online. Also, I'm 50 years younger than him. Sad thing is, though. I bet on a good day he remembers more than I do.

The memory issues kind of run in my maternal family. Both sides, I think. I would jokingly call it Cooper* Syndrome. (*Not the real last name.)  But as I got older I realized that a lot of it was just undiagnosed/untreated neurodivergence. There's certainly a genetic component to executive dysfunction. 

If I live long enough, I'll be nothing but a pile of Sundowning symptoms. It probably won't take to my 80s/90s to get there.

This was supposed to just be about my grandfather but I can't really help myself I guess. I mean this touches on a lot of fears I have. Losing my mom to dementia, losing my self to dementia. 

My mother is experiencing some measure of denial. The "maybe it's not that bad" sort that I myself am prone to. It's hard to not say something stupid like "well let's not get our hopes up" or something equally unhelpful. The bit about how he drove himself there. I just keep thinking "THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING HE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN DRIVING". 

She cried so much yesterday. Not just about Grandpa, but about the possibility that my aunt might have to move back east to take care of him, or get his affairs in order.  

This is why suicide often feels appealing. So that I don't have to have any more of these experiences. So I never have to go through this with my mother. 

But if I do that, then, what? My mom loses her ex-husband, brother, mother, father, and daughter in the span of 10 years? I don't agree with people that say suicide is inherently cowardly or selfish, but in my case it would be. It wouldn't be about ending pain, but about avoiding it.