Betsy Lewis: Even memory lane has its potholes

I went to see my grandma yesterday. It wasn't a good day.

Her hip was hurting her more than usual, but even so, she couldn't sit still. Her clothes hung loosely on her small frame; I'm not sure she even weighs 100 pounds anymore. She constantly rummaged in her purse -- looking for what, I couldn't tell you. She asked me at least 10 times where her baby was.

Then she looked me straight in the eye, smiled with crooked teeth and told me I was a beautiful girl.

And my heart broke -- yet again -- because my grandma doesn't know who I am. She has Alzheimer's and has been living at Country House since April.

When she was still in her own home with my grandfather, it got the worst at night. She would become confused, scared and distrustful. A quick trip to see my dad and she would be OK again. She doesn't know who he is, but she knows he alone can calm her. Her condition is called Sundowners, and it affects almost 20 percent of the five million Americans suffering from Alzheimer's.

I first noticed she wasn't quite the same at Christmas dinner when I was 12. She told me over and over what she and my grandpa had done the night before for Christmas Eve. I chalked it up to old age.

The Christmas after that it was no longer a secret that she was getting worse, but I refused to believe that she didn't remember entire parts of her life. Grandma would always remember the hundreds of afternoons we spent together.

Wouldn't she?

My grandma was an artist, and her paintings covered the walls of their house. My favorite hangs in the living room: a collie howling help for an injured lamb at the bottom of a hill while snow falls all around. I stared at that painting so long one day, I swear I heard that dog's desperate cry (or maybe that was just the dog in the backyard).

Though I am disappointed to admit I inherited exactly none of her abilities, I still tried. We mostly painted pieces of china together (except the painting of toe shoes hanging above my bed that, let's face it, she did most of). Painting teacups, vases and other knickknacks was one thing she was sure her artistically-challenged granddaughter couldn't screw up.

But I did anyway. 

Looking at those pieces now, I am amazed at how hideous they are. The strokes are messy and uneven, and it seems as though I ignored the borders completely. She taught me to be proud of the job I had done, though, for no matter the physical appearance of the outcome, hard work is always attractive.

She also taught me purple and red don't go together. "They fight," she told me. I've never paired the two colors since.

Many hours on summer afternoons were spent at my grandparents' kitchen table playing gin rummy. I hadn't quite grasped the full concept of the game, but there was no pity to be given by Grandma; she never let me win. When I did win -- once in a blue moon -- she couldn't let it slide. Even now, when she has no idea what day of the week it is, she still kicks my butt at gin rummy. The entire time she's convinced she's never played before, then leaves me high and dry with unfinished runs. I guess there are some things you just never forget.

There are some who would argue that the perfect grandmother always has fresh cookies for her grandkids, never lets them watch more than an hour of TV and lets them win a game every now and then. If that's the case, then my grandmother was far from perfect. 

She didn't bake. She swears every now and then. She is fiercely competitive. She was also at every dance recital, every birthday party and every performance of a school play. 

And she loves me, no questions asked. To me that's perfection.

Even though my grandma can't tell you my name anymore and most days doesn't know how old she is (frail as she is, she would have my head if I printed the number for the masses), she has lived a pretty good life, one that I'll confess I'm a little jealous of.

You, too, may someday lose the ability to recollect every memory, so make them count while you still can. Even when you don't remember, the ones who love you will.



Betsy Lewis is a senior at Grand Island Senior High.