Grandma Marie

It's a little late (and long), but oh well....

February 11, 2010 my dear Grandma Eva Marie Barnes finally went to be with the Lord, Grandpa, and the rest of her family. I loved her so much and still miss her, but it was quite a different kind of death and funeral. There was so much joy in remembering her the way she was, who she used to be. You see, Grandma had Alzheimer's Disease.

She was no longer the Grandma Marie that any of us knew. It all seemed to start after Grandpa passed away when I was in 7th grade. At first it was little things, leaving things on, forgetting where something was, what someone's name was or what day, etc. But then she would be driving and would forget where she was in Maryville or how to get home, and would forget to take her medicines. That's when we moved her to an assisted living place and she had her own little apartment when I was a junior in high school. She wasn't happy about it, but she still had her car, the house was still there, and all her things were in the apartment. But then she got worse yet.

She repeated the same stories over and over every few minutes, she fell, she didn't recognize people, her mood would change and she'd be angry for no apparent reason, she'd leave without telling anyone, and she was no longer safe to drive. After only 6 months there, that's when we had to move her into the nursing home on the Alzheimer's unit. It was a locked unit so the residents wouldn't wander out, but she still had her own room with her things, there was a nice dining room that the residents took care of (set the table, etc.), a TV room, a birdcage, games, etc. I remember going to spend time with her there and she would walk me back "home" to her room, show me the dining room and explain how she set the table and where everyone sat, show me the pictures on her wall and explain who she thought the people were and what big event happened in the old photograph that she cherished (more on that later). It was here when she first started fumbling with who I was and my name. She would think I was Nancy (my mom), or Joyce (my aunt), but would reorient when I told her I was her granddaughter, Ken's daughter. We would go and celebrate with the residents during their Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners and Grandma would seem distant sometimes, but other times she was content and happy. One of the aides at the home told us that Grandma would even lead a small Bible Study with some of her neighbors there. We would bring her out to the farm sometimes to have Sunday dinner with us, but that's when we knew things were worse and she became completely opposite from the Grandma I knew. She would be talking and couldn't think of the word to describe what she wanted to say or didn't comprehend a word (like one Christmas she totally blanked on what "Christmas" was). She would be violent, her temper flaring at the drop of a hat, any small change in the routine would set her off. She cursed (I NEVER heard a foul word leave my Grandma's lips before that), pushed and hit people (she NEVER raised a hand to anyone before), and she was so depressed. I became depressed going to visit her. She began to look so sad and frail and I used to pray that God would take her home and end her suffering.

We moved her out of the Alzheimer's unit and out into a regular room when she stopped recognizing people and wouldn't eat much. She would go through periods when she would only eat certain foods, like only white foods, etc. I was only able to visit sporadically during her last year in the Alzheimer's unit and after she moved because I graduated high school and then went to college. The last time I visited her was 2 or 3 years before she passed. She was in her regular room in the home and Dad and I went to see her. She spoke to Dad, asked about how he was, what he was up to, simple things like that. She barely looked at me, though. Didn't even acknowledge me. I knew then that she had no idea who I was. Didn't even recognize me as a family member. That hurt. I remember I went to hang out with my friends from home that night and I broke down. I just didn't know why this had to happen, my friends had grandparents pass away, but at least they still knew who they were, could tell them they loved them. I was feeling sorry for myself. Then I felt guilty because I couldn't imagine what she must go through, knowing she should know something but her mind just going blank, going through day to day not knowing why or how. I just couldn't bring myself to go back and see her after that. I didn't want to put her through that confusion, and I just wasn't strong enough to handle it myself either. That was the last time I saw her.

I prayed again, and often that God would take her, whenever I saw a picture of her, or asked Dad how she was doing, etc. I didn't feel guilty about it though. I left it all up to Him of course, but I put in my request. It seemed odd asking for God to end a life (and it probably seemed like it to a lot of people), but in this case, I had a strange peace about it. It seemed like it was a very long time coming though. Physically, Grandma was pretty healthy. With the exception of having 3 kids, then breast cancer in her adult life and undergoing a mastectomy, I don't think Grandma had ever stayed in the hospital until she went to the nursing home. Even then, she only stayed a day or two I think. As I've learned it is a lot with Alzheimer's, the mind goes first, then the body is slow to follow. Dang it.

Mom told me that on the day she died, her roommate told the nurse's that she didn't think "Mom" as she called Grandma was feeling very well that day and that they should let her rest. She was quiet and just laying in bed all day. Then they went back to check on her and she was gone. I was so glad it was peaceful. Her mind was finally at rest and she was home, back to her old self.