I used to ride my bike everywhere. My next door neighbor, and best friend forever, Erica and I would ride and ride and ride all day anywhere we wanted. It was the freedom we needed. One of my favorite places to ride was to my grandparents house about 5 miles up the road.
Every time I went there I was greeted so warmly. They always gave me a lemon poppy muffin and a cappuccino (one of those international delight ones that is more coco than coffee).
When I turned 15 and a freshman still, all my friends were a year older and sophomores. You see, Erica was a year older than me so her friends were my friends. It was very hard for me to make friends in high school. You see, I had gone to catholic school straight through 8th grade and didn't know anyone. All through high school I spent 4 years being the 'new girl.' Whoever said high school is the best time of your life never spent a day as the new kid...let alone 4 years.
Yet, I digress. So when I was 15 my friend Kate got her drivers license and her parents got her a convertible. Erica and my bike riding days were done! And so were the days spent over my grandparents house.
One day we were driving down the road and I saw my grandpa riding his bike. I told Kate to beep and we all waved. He didn't seem to recognize me and angrily waved us kids on. My friends laughed and asked if that was really my grandfather. I said I think I'd know my own grandpa...
Then we discovered that my grandparents were both very sick. Turns out my Nana was an undercover alcoholic who slipped into dementia. She stopped taking care of the house, herself, and my grandfather.
My grandfather was showing signs of early Alzheimer's. Neither could take care of themselves. My Nana was the worst. She was put into a nursing home that specialized in dementia.
My grandfather could not take care of himself so my parents asked me if I wanted to live with him. I said yes I guess so.
I spent three months with him. Watching this man's demise. He used to be so strong and confident and now he could not remember if he ate breakfast. He could not remember how to get to his own bedroom. I saw his decline, first hand.
When my mom would come over she would go through their things finding gin bottles hidden everywhere. My Nana had a hiding spot in every room. And now she was completely gone. Her mind was full of dead end hallways with bare walls. No memories. and we had no idea.
After 3 months of being with my grandpa, my parents saw that it was too hard for me. I was going to high school, playing volleyball, and working while trying to take care of my grandpa. Trying to make sure he had his afternoon cappuccino and wheat thins.
They moved him into an assisted living home the next town over. They also moved my nana in with him. The problem is neither remembered each other....
My Nana was nasty to anyone who spoke to her like they knew her so we had to pretend that we did not know her.
My grandpa was still clueless, but at least he was child-like. Curious. Kind.
I was helping them move in and was putting together a television stand. My grandfather started laughing and made a joke that he didn't ask for a plumber!! Turns out my pants had slipped down and my ass crack was showing.
From that day forward he remembered me as the plumber. I was the only one he remembered. I like to think that it's because I never left him but I know better...
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