Posted by: mydarkestplaces | March 29, 2018

Passage of time

I’m 34 years old and my last grandparent just passed away. My grandmother, rest her soul, was in her 90s. She’d felt lonely since my Grandfather’s death several years ago. She had dementia or alzheimer’s or some combination thereof. She wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been herself for a long time.

But still. She was my Grandma. She was supposed to be there always. I hadn’t seen her in years, purposely. Since walking into the halls of Alcoholics’ Anonymous, and into the rooms of various Med and Talking Head Shrinks, I’d realized that my grasp on being alive and being sober is very, very tenuous. Seeing such a staunch anchor of my life not who I remember her as would have knocked me flat on my ass. With a bottle and a knife in hand.

I want to remember her as the woman laughing as my Grandfather and friends shot the potato gun off the porch into the lake. I want to remember the woman reading Tikki Tikki Tembo to my brothers and I. I want to remember rainy days putting together puzzles while listening to The Great Mouse Detective playing in the background.

Because I’m me, yes, a slice of me will regret not going to see my grandmother in times when the opportunity was afforded me, but the part of me that will have mostly memories of my Grandmother with it knows that those are the safer memories for me to have.

I anticipate this being a hot topic of conversation with the various Shrinks I work with for the foreseeable future.

What this is also nailing home, though? Oddly? Is that I’m supremely lucky to have a care team not unwilling to say, “Get your ass to the ER now…” If you find yourself in the spot too often where you’re wondering if you should go? Have yourself a care team that will say, “Yes, you should.”

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