I know it’s been a while since I posted anything here. It’s been a tough few weeks. For the past week, I’ve been in Florida at my Abuelo’s bedside (Abuelo is Spanish for grandfather). After a long and incredibly painful battle with Alzheimers, Abuelo was moved to a Hospice last week. He was suffering from pneumonia and a blood infection and the decision was made not to treat it. Abuelo had been incredibly depressed the past few years. He had lost just about everything that made him who he was — most of his sight, most of his hearing, his independence, his memories, etc. First he and my Abuela had to leave their home and their independent life in the wilds of the Catskills to live in a senior living community in South Florida near my parents (for anyone who lives happily in the middle of nowhere, South Florida is probably one of the most abhorrent places you could imagine living). As he got worse, it became more and more difficult for my Abuela to care for him. She’s 90 for goodness sake and it’s amazing that she can still take care of herself, much less a man who was wandering off and getting increasingly paranoid.
Finally, in late Spring of this year, my mother finally made the decision to have Abuelo put in an Alzheimers assisted living facility, which was absolutely necessary and was fine as those places go. In fact, it was pretty nice. But taking a person with Alzheimers away from the last familiar things is often unbearable. He was deeply depressed and kept asking to go home. His symptoms kept getting worse and worse though not bad enough for him to be unaware of what was happening to him. It would have been easier for him if he was totally unaware of his surroundings. It was unbearable for us also. Every time I would visit him, I would feel so sad, because I knew he didn’t want to live like this. None of us wanted to see him in pain anymore.
Abuelo died on Friday afternoon. This week I have really gotten to see how different my head and my heart are. Intellectually, I am happy he is at peace and I didn’t want him to be so miserable anymore. But in my heart, I am devastated that I will never see him again. It just doesn’t seem possible. I love him so much.
Most of the time that I was in Florida, Abuelo was in a semi-comatose state. He couldn’t communicate with us and was mostly unresponsive. On Tuesday morning, I came extra early to see Abuelo… long before my parents and Abuela were planning on visiting. I had expected him to still be in a coma state, but instead, his eyes were wide open and he seemed aware of his surroundings. I had the opportunity to tell him I love him and he told me the same. We talked a bit, but it was very difficult for him to communicate (not having had any fluids in days) and within an hour and a half, he was losing his grip on consciousness. I feel so grateful to have had the chance to talk to him one last time and that he knew how much he meant to me.
Abuelo was a wonderful man who led an amazing life in his 89 years. He was born in Plencia, a seaside town in the Spanish Basque country. Even after years of suffering from Alzheimers, he still frequently spoke of growing up in the little house just a couple of meters from the sea. He left home at 14 to join the merchant marines and travelled all around the world. Abuelo then fought in the Spanish Civil War against Franco and escaped being thrown into a concentration camp like so many other Basques who fought on the side of the Republic (only 10% of the Basques sent to the concentration camps survived). He ended up living in New Orleans and served in the Merchant Marines (Coast Guard) in World War II, ferrying troops from England to continental Europe. His ship was torpedoed by the Germans and he and only a few others survived for days on a raft in the Atlantic Ocean. Ironically, it took until the late 1980s for World War II veterans in that branch of the military to even be recognized as veterans (and to get any benefits).
Aubleo met Manuela (my Abuela, who is also from Spain) in the United States after the War. She was a real hottie back then — I think she looked like Sophia Loren. She had refused to dance with his friends and he bet them that he could get her to dance with him. When she said no to him as well, he started limping away and said “I understand… no one wants to dance with me and my wooden leg.” Needless to say, after that she danced with him, and I guess she managed to forgive him for his little white lie. They fell in love, got married and moved to New Jersey. They adopted my mother while on a trip to Spain after her mother had died, leaving her husband (my Abuela’s brother) with six kids to raise in a very poor and rural section of Galicia. They gave my mother opportunities she would never have had in rural Spain, like going to college. Abuelo worked a number of jobs, mostly doing mechanical things. He actually built a tractor himself from parts. He made lots of things with wood and metal. He was incredibly smart and talented and could do anything with his hands.
Abuelo had a long and happy retirement in the Catskills — fishing, hunting, taking care of his land, and spending time with his grandkids. I’m so grateful that he had more than 25 wonderful years there.
Abuelo was the kind of grandfather every kid wishes they had. I know for some people, grandparents are the people they see once a year who buy them good or totally lame gifts, but Abuela and Abuelo were such an important part of my life growing up. Abuelo and abuela spent a great deal of time with my brother and me while we were growing up and we had so much fun together. Abuelo taught me to drive a tractor when I was five, attaching a block of wood to the break so that I could reach the pedal. He taught me to fish. He taught me to drive a car when I was 14, and learning on scary mountain roads made me much more confident when I had to practice in flat Florida. We used to take long walks in the woods, finding all sorts of animals. We’d go feed the ducks at the pond in town. He helped me to play practical jokes on my Abuela and my mom (like the time I put a frog in a box and wrapped it up like it was a present). He was always joking around. He’d always sneak extra cookies to me and my brother under the dinner table. He taught us Spanish card games and told me a lot about Basque culture. He told us amazing stories about his experiences in the wars and what it was like to grow up in Plencia.
Visiting Abuelo and Abuela in the Catskills was always something I looked forward to. My parents fought a lot when I was a kid, and being with Abuela and Abuelo was always so calming. They had the best marriage — they were true partners in life and got along so well. In college, when I was having problems with depression, their home was a refuge for me. I spent an entire summer there and frequently drove up to see them from Connecticut. I’d specifically schedule my classes so that I’d have three-day weekends and could see them more often. He and Abuela always made me feel smart, and special and beautiful, like I could accomplish anything. I feel like the luckiest person in the world to have had the best grandparents ever, but the unluckiest person in the world because love inevitably leads to loss (though, of course, it’s well worth it). There is never enough time with the people we love. All we can do is remember what is important and spend more time with the people we love than we spend worrying about things that aren’t important in the grand scheme of things.
As I face a few months with a lot of upcoming presentations and other work-related stress, I will remember what is really important and keep my heart and my mind on the people I love.
Meredith, my deepest sympathies for your loss. Your Abuelo was lucky to have a granddaughter like you.
Vickie
Your grief is shared. What a glorious tribute to true love you have written!
Two years ago my grandpa died of MSA, a Parkinson’s-like disease that had taken his speech, his movement, his ability to swallow, and many other small and large abilities. He’d fought the disease for many, many years, though it had “only” been properly diagnosed for 8 years.
When he died, it was the most expected thing in the world, and yet the most shocking. My mind knew that he’d finally been freed from the prison that was his body, but that didn’t seem to make any difference to the rest of me.
I guess expecting isn’t the same as being prepared. And I don’t know that there’s ever any way to prepare for this type of experience. My deepest sympathies to you and your family as you make your way through the experience together.
P.S. I don’t believe I’ve ever commented directly after someone else named Iris before.
My sympathies for your loss, Meredith, and please call on me if I can help in any way.
Thank you for posting about this. My granparents are in a similar situation (Grandpa is 88 and kicking, but Grandma, 86, is in an Alzheimer’s assisted living facility). Part of the reason I moved accross the country was to be near them both, and I’m glad I did, although it is incredibly difficult to go and visit someone who has no idea who you are, and yet depends on you to feed her. I don’t have anything inspiring to say other than I can relate, and I hope that there will be a cure someday, maybe with stem cell research. I hope you are well and admire that you have shared this painful story and still honored the history of your abuelos.
My condolences, Meredith. My wife lost three of her four grandparents to Alzheimers, and she’ll eventually lose the fourth to it as well.
Your grandfather sounds like he was an amazing person who led an amazing life. Your post is a wonderful, moving tribute to him.
What a lovely tribute to your Abuelo, and my condolences on this big loss in your life.
I never knew either of my grandfathers, but both of my grandmothers were huge forces in shaping me as a person, and it was heartbreaking when they passed, both rather slowly, though not of Alzheimers. The best you can do is surround yourself with people whom you love, and who love you back, and let your emotions express themselves, however that may be..
Meredith, my deepest condolences. I have to echo the sentiments of an earlier commenter that the post is a beautiful tribute to your Abuelo. My grandmother currently has Alzheimer’s – and it is such a devastating condition. As such, I found your post deeply moving. This is a reminder to me to stop and take the time to appreciate that she is still a part of our lives.
Meredith, it is a lovely tribute that would make abuelo beam with pride. He always liked to be noticed. Abuela used to say that even the flies in the Catskills knew him since he would talk to everyone. It’s a tribute that is justly deserved. I’m just sad that I didn’t appreciate him as much as I should’ve when he was here. Just one correction, we did treat the infection with antibiotics; we just refused a feeding tube for him. He is now free to reside in our hearts and memories as he used to be rather than in the assisted living facility as he was at the end. He left a wonderful legacy of love and good memories.
Sometimes I wonder if heaven is how others remember you after you pass. If I am right, then your wonderful Abuelo is in a fabulous, well deserved place.
You are indeed lucky.
Thanks for sharing.
What a wonderful tribute, Meredith. A caring grandfather is an invaluable gift. My condolonces to you and your family.
Like several others above, I have family members in a similar situation, I have a very healthy (for 94 years old) grandfather, and a nanna in her mid 80s who is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. Nanna is my grandfather’s third wife (they married when I was 2), his first two wives died of cancer.
My deepest condolences on your loss Meredith. Your post is a wonderful and lasting tribute to your Abuelo. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Thanks for sharing this tribute on your Abuelo, he sounds like an amazing man! Take care of yourself, Meredith.
Man, what a tribute! I’m glad you have so much time with them. My condolences on your loss, and remember that you have the right to grieve as much as you need to.
Meredith, what a perfect memorial and tribute to your Abuelo. Beutifulkly written and very moving. My condolences to you and the rest of your family.
My maternal Granpa was in the Merchant Marine also. He died in 1981. In WWII, he served on an escort corvette for supplies convoys in the North Atlantic…a pretty horrific task as the convoys were sitting ducks for torpedoes. When the Merchant Marine sailors finally became eligible for medals–as you note–my father, who had admired his ex-father-in-law, applied for Granpa’s medal posthumously. If you’ve not been, the War Museum in London, England has an exhibit devoted to the service of those in the Merchant Marine.
Meredith – I’m very sorry for your loss. Your Grandfather sounds like a great man. My Grandmother suffered a long battle with Alzheimers before she passed so you have my deepest sympathy.
Thank you for sharing, Meredith, and condolences.
Meredith, at the risk of sounding sort of like “me too” I wanted to add my condolences to others’. And thank you for writing about your grandparents. Your post resonated with me for many reasons but especially because I too had a grandpa who died of Alzheimer’s and he and my grandma were the only grandparents I ever knew. I was too young to remember my paternal grandparents.
Grandparents are quite simply, the best. I was particularly close to my grandma. She died first, at least in part due to the stress and workload of caring for my grandpa. We didn’t know how bad it was until after she died and we took my grandpa into our home to care for him. He was incontinent and often incoherent and confused. My four older brothers and I took turns changing his diapers and generally caring for him. Unfortunately most of the time, he thought we were trying to hurt him and I can well remember trying to help him and trying to change his diapers while he was beating me and hitting me and in great distress. Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease and I often felt like my dear grandpa had died long before his actual death.
For several years at the end of their lives (and before my grandpa became too far gone with Alzheimer’s), my grandparents lived next door to us in a house that my parent’s provided. There was a well worn path between our houses with traffic back and forth. I loved spending time with my grandparents, who had had a very full and also somewhat tragic life. They were world travellers who had been everywhere and had seen so many things. I loved hearing about their memories, e.g. my grandfather was a cook for many years as a young man in Scotland on a fishing vessel in the North Sea before he emigrated to the U.S., and he would tell us stories of special things that happened during that time. During a very dark period in our own home, my grandparents were a ray of sunshine and love. Most days after school I would go over there to have tea and crackers or cookies with them. They carried on the ways of “The Old Country” including tea at 11a and at 3 or 4p each day.
I miss them still, more than 20 years after their deaths.
Thank you all so much for your kind thoughts and rememberences of your family members. It is an absolute tragedy that so many of our lives have been touched by Alzheimers in one way or another; it is so unfair to see people we love who were once so vital basically fall apart like that. On the other hand, we were all so lucky to have that kind of love in our lives. I feel incredibly grateful for the love I have had — for my parents, my grandparents, my husband and my friends. Love gives us so much strength.
I’m still having weepy moments a few times a day, but I’m hanging in there. 🙂
What a wonderful tribute to your grandpa. My condolences.
Meredith, my belated sympathies on your loss, and thanks for the wonderful portrait of this man.
What a sweet and touching post. I am sorry for your loss. Your Abuelo sounds so wonderful!
Came here looking for a review between Adobe Captivate and Camtasia tutorial video, ended up reading about your grandfather and was deeply moved. What a life he’s lived and you wrote about it so well, thanks for sharing it and my sympathies go out to you and your family.