Page 97 of Like You Want It
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CARLY
When I pull into the parking lot at the Pasadena Village the following Monday afternoon, after a particularly grueling morning at work, I take a moment and stare at the exterior of the building.
I know seeing my grandfather is important. But I feel a little emotionally vulnerable today, so I might cry. And he hates when I cry.
Mostly because he doesn’t understand why it’s happening.
The doctors told me last year that his Alzheimer’s was worsening. The fact he’s as old as he is and still functioning really well is almost a miracle, and a lot of it is based on the fact that we all allow him to believe whatever he wants.
I read an article about that once. That patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia live longer, more fulfilled lives if you don’t contradict them all of the time.
So when he believes I’m my mother? I let him.
When he doesn’t recognize me? I introduce myself as someone who is just visiting.
If he’s upset by me being there, I get his favorite nurse, Patty, who is always able to cheer him up and calm him down.
That’s usually my least favorite option, because it means my time with him gets cut short since he’s normally exhausted from the interaction and wants to just watch TV.
It eats at my chest sometimes. And I wish I could do more for him.
But all I can do is give him my time, and my love, and make sure he’s as happy as he can be. Even if that means I leave in tears sometimes.
Pulling in a deep breath through my nose and then pushing it out with my mouth, I step out of the car, lock up, and head in.
After signing in and wandering through the corridors, I finally come to room 310 and glance inside.
There he sits. Hal Hughes. A big brute of a man who served his country in Korea and Vietnam. Ask him about it, and he’ll tell you that he would have served in World War II if he’d been old enough. But he was too young to enlist, coming of age just as the war ended.
He loves to talk about his time in the military, though his focus has always been more on the other men he was friends with and the things they got up to. He’s an eternal optimist, and the grandparent I take after the most. My mom was definitely his daughter, and I am definitely his granddaughter.
I’m always surprised that he remembers so much of his time in the military, and not as much about his family. But his doctor explained that people with Alzheimer’s remember things that are emotionally charged much more than neutral or happy memories.
“Hey there, Mister Hughes,” I say. It’s the way I’ve started greeting him so I don’t spark discomfort at the start. If I call him GP and he thinks I’m my mom, or has no idea who I am, it can be pretty startling for him.
When his head turns and his eyes find me at the door, I can tell today is a foggy day for him.
“Hello,” he replies, staying seated in his chair.
“Mind if I come in?”
He glances around the room, possibly just noticing where he is for the first time. Then he looks back at me. “I guess so.”
I wander into his room and over to where he sits in front of the TV,The Ed Sullivan Showreruns playing in the VCR. I got him a DVD player and tried to set up Netflix for him so he could watchThe Andy Griffith ShowandStar Trek.But he had trouble remembering how to use it. So I got him a VCR and went to every Salvation Army within an hour radius, digging into the VHS piles to pull out different shows he used to like when he was younger.
He’s been watchingThe Ed Sullivan Showfor quite a while, now. I should make sure he sees that he has other options.
“Please, feel free to sit in my guest chair,” he says, giving me a smile.
Caleb helped me bring in his favorite two identical chairs when he moved into this place, but he’s obsessed with his own and refers to it as his throne, which makes me laugh every time. The other one was given the nameguest chair.
I tried switching them around when he went to the bathroom once, and he got so mad. The minute he sat down he glared at me.
Pretty sure I laughed about that one for weeks.
I nod. “Thank you so much. How are you doing today?”
