My Thank You

My Thank You

Every Sunday afternoon my mom gathered me and my three older brothers to head out to our grandparents house for dinner. A Sunday tradition that started when i was only a child. Also a child when this tradition gradually came to an end.

I am current in my mid 20’s and when i think back to those Sunday visits now, i remember so much and so little at the same time. The first thing i saw when i walked up the stairs from the back door was my grandpa sitting in “his” chair. To me that will always be “his” chair because this was one of the two places i ever saw him. The other being in the backyard while he tended to his garden that he adored. The room was a small, narrow room that was surrounded by countless books and old pictures of him from his World War II days. It was during World War II my grandparents had met. My dad being the only boy out of four kids was even born in a refugee camp. I suppose there was some light at the end of the tunnel during those dark times for my grandparents. Always so deep in concentration in whatever he was reading at the time when he was in that chair, so focused. Until i would shyly come in, hiding behind my parents, waiting for him to extend his arms to me so i could climb onto his lap. Such a serious looking man all the time. Always properly groomed and well dressed, even in all of the pictures i’ve seen. That serious look he always carried would soon transform into a big grin when he saw me. I wish i could remember things he said to me, but i don’t even know what his voice sounded like. I do remember his tender hugs that made me feel just like a child should. Warm and happy. The only care being about that moment. I was only five when he had died of a sudden heart attack that occurred while he was in his garden. He died on his 90th birthday. It was the first funeral i had attended at this point in my life. At his wake, before the crowd of people were to come to say their final goodbyes, i stood there next to my parents, staring at my grandpa in his casket. So still and motionless. Knowing he was gone but not really understanding why. I didn’t cry. I can’t say i felt sad. I was five for crying out loud, i didn’t know what to feel or think. All i knew was i would no longer be able to sit on his lap or give him a hug.

After my grandpa’s death, the Sunday dinner tradition still continued. My dad’s youngest sister lived with my grandma at the time, so at least she wasn’t alone. Every Sunday my grandma would make dinner while i assume everyone shared stories and laughs. I do remember the taste of her tomato soup. My mom got the recipe and when she makes it to this day, it’s still one of my favorite foods. What can i say, nostalgia tastes delicious. When dinner would wrap up and everyone was cleaning or engaged in conversation, i would sneak away to the little room i always saw my grandpa in. Delving deeper into the man who was no longer there to greet me when i walked in the door. I was growing older and needed to grab hold of every memory of him that i could.

Aside from my grandpa’s room, there are many details of that house that are still so clear to me. The smell of the basement that to me always smelled like cranberry juice. The brightly lit kitchen where my dad would often slice me an apple over the sink while i stood next to him watching him like he was performing a surgery. The fridge that had a small erase board where each time i would visit i would draw a new random picture. The rough texture of the pea colored carpet in the living room that was hard as a board. The uncomfortable couch that was covered in typical grandma plastic. The front door that was never used for some reason other than to deposit mail through the slot. The spiralling stairs me and my brother would chase each other on where more often than not i would tumble down. The upstairs that seemed like another world. Other than to use the bathroom, no one was up there, so it was eerily quiet. A couple times after i would use the bathroom, i would slip away to explore. The bedrooms were whiter than snow and knowing my grandma would have to sleep alone in that big bed every night gave me an uneasy feeling. Therefore, i avoided even making eye contact with the bedroom when i was up there. One thing i was particularly drawn to was the big brown piano in the living room. On top there were pictures of all the grandkids, but i remember my one brother’s picture the most. The same brother who i would get chased by on the stairs. Also the same brother who always wanted to wrestle his youngest sibling that was five years younger than him. His dorky little smile in that picture, his perfectly parted wet hair, his crooked smile and a little red bowtie. I smiled every time i looked at that thing. Who knew the brother that even gave me a bloody nose once would make me smile and feel so much love at a young age? I didn’t know how to play the piano, but i always liked to think i did. I studied each key like it meant something. Pressing each one ever so tenderly just to hear the sound. My dad eventually taught me some simple songs such as Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Mary Had a Little Lamb. Once i learned these songs, it’s all i ever played. Probably annoying everyone in the house. I was young and proud.

Sadly, the visits became less frequent as my grandma had become sick and wasn’t up for much company. She was getting up in age and you can tell. She was always such a fragile looking woman. Couldn’t have weighed more than 100 pounds and had horrible osteoporosis that left her with a hunchback. My dad would sometimes pick her up from her house and bring her by us for a change of scenery. It was quite a drive, so she would often spend the night. She seemed to enjoy it. Probably because she was surrounded by people who took care of her and loved her. My aunt that she lived with, i’ll actually give her a shred of credit here and say she did what she could with my grandma. It just wasn’t enough. She was only one person with a life of her own. I’m sure taking care of her sick, older mother wasn’t one of her favorite things to do. The very last time i remember being at my grandparents house isn’t a pleasant memory to say the least. I wish i could wash it away, but not all recollections are joyful.

My parents had suggested for my grandma to come live with us since there was always someone at the house to look after her. She had come to a point where she had to be dependent on someone. She had become weak, had trouble walking due to the osteoporosis and needed help with getting food prepared and washing up. We also had plenty of space for her. My grandma was for it, but my aunt? Not so much. On our final visit, though i didn’t know it at the time, her and my dad had a falling out. While i don’t know every detail of the fight even to this day, i know it eventually graduated to a screaming match between the two. My mom and grandma crying out in the background, begging them to stop. I stood there in the heat of it all feeling terrified. The worst part of it all was they were having this argument in my grandpa’s little room. I was filled with too much emotion for just a young child. I wanted nothing more for my grandpa to reappear in his chair telling them to stop in a voice i had to imagine he sounded like. Telling them that everything would be ok. I left the fighting that seemed to last for hours and went to the garden my grandpa loved. I didn’t think about anything. I just sat down on the grass looking at the wilted flowers that lacked attention and would soon be gone forever. This visit was the last time i ever saw my aunt and the last time i saw the house that i grew to adore. Now it all would all become a memory. On the ride home my parents were silent. I sat all the way in the back of the van staring out the window, listening to the oldies station that my dad put on often, not sure what was happening around me. All i knew was that my grandma would be living with us and it would change all of our lives forever.

My grandma had resided in my oldest brother’s room upstairs since he recently moved out. Instead of having all three of my brothers in the house, it was down to two which was weird to me. But having my grandma fill that gap definitely helped. We all loved having her there, especially me. Every morning she would sit at the kitchen table while my mom would make her cup of tea that had to be boiling, along with what was usually toast or a pastry of some kind. My grandma was 100% Polish, therefore knew the language well. She would use it with my dad from time to time. I picked up a few words along the way. Yes, apple, good, thank you. Ya know, the important stuff. When i had the chance, i would spend as much time with my her as possible. She was good company to me. Always teaching me things and telling me stories about when she was a nurse back in Poland. She sat in her room a lot so i liked to visit. When she had the door shut, instead of bothering her, i would write her notes on post it notes or draw her little pictures and slide them under the door for her. Sometimes she would even write back. If i had gotten a good grade on a test or paper from school, i couldn’t wait to go home and show my grandma. She was always so proud and i loved seeing her smile. One night out of the blue, i told her i wanted to learn Spanish. One of my brother’s had taken it in high school and still had the textbook. I found it and showed my grandma. She said she wanted to learn to. We read the book together and tried to teach each other Spanish for a good majority of the night. I can’t say i remember any words but i do remember feeling proud of her. Here was a woman well into her 80’s still challenging herself. My favorite memory i have with my grandma is when we played bowling in the narrow hallway outside her room. I would set up empty water bottles and we used a wiffle ball as the bowling ball. Things were good. Until they weren’t

A couple years had gone by since my grandma came to live with us. We all did our best to help her with anything she needed, but my mom especially took care of her. Unfortunately, my grandma was getting older and even more weak than before. She was now more susceptible to falling and ended up in the hospital a number of times because of it. She had become less interested in activities, rarely wanted company and didn’t show up to breakfast much. Every night before i went to sleep only a few doors down from her, i dreaded that she would no longer be there when i would wake up. For a reason i can’t explain, when something scared me as a child, instead of sleeping in my room, i slept on the couch downstairs. If there was a spider in my room, if i had a bad dream, if i was sick...i found more comfort being on the couch. It had come to a point where i slept many nights on the couch because the thought of losing my grandma scared me more than a stupid spider. One night while i was sleeping on the couch, i suddenly heard my parents talking and all the lights were turned on. I knew it was my grandma. I laid there not moving, barely even taking a breath. I summoned the strength to finally sit up. Right as i was about to ask my parents what was wrong, i heard an ambulance outside. The sound grew closer to our house. Eventually leading to the sound of the doorbell. She had fallen coming back from the bathroom and broke her hip. Though i didn’t physically lose my grandma that night, after everything that followed from that point on, to me that truly was the night my grandma left us. She eventually returned home and was in bad shape. Almost bedridden. My mom tended to her every need from bathing her, feeding her and helping her use the bathroom. When she came back home, there was something different about her. It wasn’t the fact that she was sick, it was the fact that she wasn’t acting or talking like herself anymore. She would constantly ask whoever she talked to, to get my grandpa and bring him to her. Constantly muttering to herself in Polish while she stared at the ceiling. In her head, she was living 50 years ago. Whenever i would visit her, i wasn’t sure she completely knew who i was. I would receive blank stares like i was a complete stranger. I had to introduce myself each time i saw her. I became uneasy and unsure of what to say anymore. I was scared for her and of her. So many unanswered question began to race through my mind. What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she remember me? Why was she asking for my grandpa? She was at his funeral, why doesn’t she remember he died? I turned to my parents for question as to why she was living in her past and acting different. They just told me she was sick.

It never got better. She soon began to lash out on everyone around her, especially my mom. The person who took care of her the most, she was accusing of hitting her and beating her. She would let out loud shrieks when my mom would go near her to adjust her pillow or fix her sheets. She accused us all of hurting her and not wanting her around. I was furious at my grandma. More and more questions began to build up. Why was she making up all these lies? Why was she acting so horrible toward the people who loved her? Because of my lack of understanding that my grandma was suffering from what later i found out to be Alzheimer’s disease, i didn’t even want to see her. This was not the same woman who stayed up half the night with me and taught me Spanish, or who listened to my stories with glee. One day when i was home alone, i was watching tv when i suddenly heard the door open. I knew no one was expected to be home yet, so i went to see what was happening. It was my grandma trying to leave. Before she got completely out the door, i stopped her. She argued with me telling me she was going to see my grandpa since no one wanted her there. I was mad, but i tried to stay calm and told her she needed to get back upstairs in bed. I honestly don’t even know how a woman in her shape was able to walk down 15 stairs without hurting herself. The arguing on her side continued, but because she was convinced i wanted her to go away, she gave in. I helped her back upstairs. The whole time she was angry when i touched her. She also kept speaking Polish to herself. For all i know she was cursing me in the language. Best not to know i suppose. I loved her, but during those times i resented her. All i wanted was my old grandma back.

One day after i got home from school, no one was home. I didn’t think anything of it. I went on the computer and started on homework. The phone rang and it was my mom. Earlier when i was in school, my grandma had a heart attack and ended up in the hospital again. I don’t know who drove me up to the hospital, but i saw my grandma who laid there helpless. Tubes in what seemed to be all over her body. It was hard to see. She looked even more fragile than i had ever seen her. I hate admitting this or even writing it, but for some reason i knew this would be the last time i would see her, but i was so mad at her during that time that i told myself i didn’t care. Of course that’s a lie. I cared. I just didn’t realize how much at the time. I was around ten or eleven when my grandma was going through this and had no knowledge of Alzheimer’s disease. In my head i thought my grandma was doing all of this to hurt us. If i knew it was a sickness that she had no control over, i would have done many things differently. A few hours later i got another phone call from my mom saying she was gone. After she said this, i fell silent for a while. I eventually got the word “ok” out and hung up. I never said to myself i was glad she was gone, but i found relief in it. There would be no more yelling or nights spent sleeping on the couch. I held no emotion in her death. I convinced myself i was mad at her. It wasn’t until her funeral when this all changed.

The wake had come and gone. People said their goodbyes. Other than looking at my grandma once in her casket, i spent the rest of the time in the dining room. The next day was the funeral. While everyone was in the church and the priest was talking about her life, my mind slipped away from me. I unwillingly found myself reliving all my cherished moments with her. All the times she made me laugh. All the time she devoted to me even in her weak, physically state. Times she would help me with homework even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. Remembering her stories about when she was a nurse and helped so many people. It was almost as if someone set off an emotional trigger because once i was flooded with these memories, i started crying. I tried to hold it in, but while everyone was standing, i had to sit. I put my head in my hands and let everything out. All the anger and resentment was gone. I didn’t care about any of that anymore. I just missed my grandma. I wished i was able to comfort her when she needed me most.

After her death, i did all the research i could on Alzheimer’s disease. I hated myself for hating her. None of it was her fault. I try my best to not have regrets in my life, but having carried those feelings of resentment and not saying a proper goodbye to my grandma, i will always regret. I should have been more patient with her. I should have told her everything will be ok. She helped hundreds of people in her lifetime and when she needed it the most, no one could help her. It wasn't fair to her. She deserved better. All i can hope for is that she knew that she was loved and appreciated by her family. I hope she cherished the same memories that i do to this very day. I never even took Spanish in school because i wanted that to be our thing we shared. I hope she knows now that each day there is something that always reminds me of her and my grandpa. Whether it’s just the sight of a piano or the smell of cranberry juice. Years later, my mom had found all the notes i wrote and drew for her. My grandma had kept them in her dresser. This brought an instant smile and brought me back to good times. I was visiting my parents recently and had asked my dad what the dozens of berries were that were growing on the bushes outside. He said they were juniper berries. He told me my grandpa had often called me his little juniper berry.

Despite my regrets about my grandma, I will say that her disease has taught me a lot. It has taught me to become more patient with people. That everyone deserves love and kindness.

The people who impact your life the most are the ones who make you feel happy and bring a smile to your face. They introduce you to things you never would have thought about before. They help you grow and make you better for it. Overall, they make you feel good. Simple as that. Thank you grandma and grandpa.