The Dying Light

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

I can not write about my most recent visit to my grandmother without first acknowledging the tragic passing of Robin Williams. I heard, like most everyone did, early last night that he had taken his life, at the age of 63. The fact that he was a father and a husband and a genius and 63, each one of these facts makes it all somehow sadder to me. I am reminded that life is fragile and to be kind to everyone, as we are all fighting our private battles in life.

My grandmother's battle is her disappearing memory, her erratic behavior, her loneliness. Alzheimer's is winning, as it always does. My visit with her on Sunday was not particularly good. I found her agitated and grouchy and mostly uncooperative. I am not alarmed by this as I recognize that it is all perfectly normal. Good mood or bad, I continue on with my plan for her when I visit, a snack, a game of cards, then upstairs to the activities room, despite her very vocal protests. She's not a joiner of activities she tells me. you are now, I tell her.

It's almost like I've had two grandmother's in my life: the woman I grew up with, who braided my hair too tight and fed me too much and taught me to play cards, And the other: the one I have I've watched forget birthdays and names and what she had for breakfast. I fully love the woman she is now and very much miss the person she used to be.