Tag Archives: Alzheimers

Saying Goodbye

I first met W – who for the rest of our time together I’ve lovingly called him Grandpa – at a craft show at the hockey arena.

Grandpa Adams

He and his wife were here visiting, and I was introduced to him by his daughter-in-law, K. She enthusiastically told him, “This is my very best friend”. I was amazed by his woodworking talents. Little did I know how that sweet little old man would come to hold a place in my heart!

After Grandpa moved to Marshall, he took in an interest in his church family and in K & S’s friends. That was extra special for us, because that meant that my children had a grandfather figure when their grandpas lived so far away. Didn’t matter if it was concerts, Boy Scout derbies, sporting events, or 4-H poultry shows even if it was 100 degrees; if he wasn’t busy, he attended.

I am so glad that I got to know him before his memories started to be cloudy and slowly a silent stealer took them away. My place in Grandpa’s life changed at the beginning of this journey. If I told the truth, it was really Grandpa’s place in my life that evolved. See my own grandfather, Papa, went on this same journey of lost memories and passed away just before all these changes happened for Grandpa. They were just a few years apart in age. This was something that wasn’t missed on this girl who no longer had her grandfathers.

Grandpa had a young man that lived with him and one day they had a disagreement. The young man called S (who couldn’t leave work) and K, who also couldn’t leave work, but who in turn called me. Oh my! My instructions were to see if I could calm everyone down. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then I remembered; I had cookie salad in my fridge. My Tupperware in hand, off I went to diffuse a situation.

Never knowing the real reason for my stopping by and bearing sweets, Grandpa and I became pretty good friends. We visited at church and at “family” functions. As the journey wore on, so did the amount of care that Grandpa needed. One day, S and K asked if I would consider coming a few mornings a week to help provide caregiving.

Enthusiastically, I said yes! It was during this time, that I learned so many things about Grandpa’s life, and I didn’t mind if I heard the story over and over again. Every time, he told the stories his eyes twinkled, and I felt I got to see his heart. A heart that loved God above all, and through that love lavished love on his wife and his children and grandchildren!

After Grandpa moved to the M Manor, I wasn’t done taking care of him. I finagled my way into a volunteer position with our family dog, Huck, visiting residents. This way, I could regularly go see Grandpa and share just a few small moments with him.
There are so many personal memories that I could share, but I will limit it two of my favorites.

Grandpa and I share November birthdays – just three days apart. One year we had our birthday celebration at a local pizza place. We were a little late to arrive as usual. It is dark early in November; so, we could clearly see inside the windows. Grandpa was not “glowing” like a birthday boy should be. When we walked in, Grandpa’s whole demeanor changed. My husband whispered in my ear, “Remember this moment. Right now you are the Belle of the Ball. Look at how his face changed.” I don’t know if you have ever had that experience.  I have only had that moment once before – on my wedding day.

My second favorite memory is from my days of caregiving before Grandpa moved to the Manor. After a few weeks, he asked me if I would have devotions with him. Would I? Absolutely! The next time I arrived, he had his Bible, his devotional, and his prayer book for our church’s active missionaries. Those were some of the most precious times I have ever spent. We took turns reading, praying, and discussing the devotion.

One day, we read a devotional based on Psalm 105: 1-2, which I now think of as Grandpa’s verse.

Oh give thanks to the LORD, call upon His name;
Make known His deeds among the peoples.
2 Sing to Him, sing praises to Him;
[a]Speak of all His [b]wonders. (NASB)

During our discussion, I shared with him that I had a decision to make because I had been recently asked to begin speaking about our family’s story, including our great sadness. As I sat there at the kitchen table with tears streaming down my face, I said that this verse seemed to be confirmation as to what I was supposed to do – even though I was going to have to go way out of my comfort zone at times, leaving my family.

Without missing a beat, after a sip of his tea, he quietly said, “Jesus and I were wondering how long it was going to take you to figure that out.”

For all those who have heard me speak, those marching orders I have never forgotten.

I am so thankful to the family of W for giving me the chance to call him Grandpa. He will be missed until we can have devotions at his table again someday.

For the love of boys and trucks

papa's truckIt never ceases to amaze me. God will put something in my head as a topic for this blog, and then He gives my heart confirmation that He meant it.  It happens all the time.  In fact, it happened today.

I had been thinking about how I had never really written about my little blue pick-up truck.  Well actually, it was my Papa’s (pronounced Pawpaw) truck.  Long ago, I lived with my grandparents in graduate school.  That time of my life remains one of my most special.  One day after classes, my Mama (Mawmaw) told me that they were working on their will and were wondering if there was anything that I had my heart set on.  Looking back, the conversation was quite comical.

How about one of the cedar chests?

Sorry shug, your cousin has already asked for those.

How about your bedroom furniture?

No, I’m sorry that is going to your Momma and Daddy.

How about the kitchen chairs?

Well, um, no hun. Another cousin has already spoken for those.

(Eyebrows raised) The old stool we used to all play on?

Nope.

(Exasperated) Well, how about you just give me that old truck and the lawnmower.  That ought to be about good.

Done!

I don’t rightly know all the circumstances, but the old truck was sold off much to my broken heart. I loved that old green Ford my Papa drove when we carried out our adventures.  But some short time after “my” Ford was sold; he purchased a little blue pickup.

As time wore on, my Papa slipped further away from us due to dementia.  Slowly, his memories and recollections just faded away.  He began to forget generations of people.  All of us grandkids morphed into one of his children. By the time he arrived at the Alzheimer’s unit at the nursing home, there were only two things he remembered with certainty.

He knew that my Mama was his gal.  And the second thing he remembered was he had a little blue truck.  Of course, how we found out about that memory was something else.  Papa (who went by Mr. Reed at the home) was being pushed down the hall by another gentleman. When asked where they were going, the other man told the nurse that they were going to take Mr. Reed’s little blue pickup for a spin.

After he passed away, Mama gave the pickup to my dad.  I think he just felt wrong about it, and he turned around and gave it to me.  When we drove it back from our meeting spot in Arkansas, we told Reed that the truck would be his someday.  From one Reed to another.

As we know, that plan didn’t turn out as hoped.  For nine years, she’s been used to haul anything too large or too messy for our other vehicles. In January, plans began to fix up that little blue truck for Sawyer.  Eighteen years old and only 62,000 miles.  We figured she has a few more years left in her. My parents told Mama what we were doing, and one day I got a call from her saying that she knew that Papa had to be so proud knowing that one of my boys was driving that truck.

Today as I was driving down the road to one of my kiddo’s VIA (Very Important Appointments), I heard a song that had the tears flowing down.  It was the confirmation I needed to know that I really was meant to write this blog. My thoughts were tied to my heartstrings. I love it when God sends those heavenly assurances.

Take a listen below and hopefully you will see what I mean. And, in case you were wondering, the place I feel closest to my Papa is in that truck.  And you better believe if “Sweet Home, Alabama” or anything Hank Williams, Sr. comes on, we crank it way up!