A letter to my children

Dear Children
I went to see your Grandmother today. I might encourage you to visit her, but truthfully I'd rather you didn't.

I would rather you remember Grandma as the woman who could pack a picnic lunch on a moment's notice, would take you down to the beach, feed you lunch on a blanket spread on the sand and watch you play all afternoon. I would rather you remember her as the woman who would walk you down to the tennis/basketball court and run after your missed shots for hours on end. I would rather you remember her as the woman who always had the cookie jar filled with your favorite cookies, the woman who served you hot chocolate after a day of sledding on their hill and the woman who attended all your high school sports events. Please remember her as she stood, camera in hand, taking years to get the shot, shaking the camera between shots because she believed it made the flash recharge more quickly. Remember the yearly photo albums she put together that contained all those moments she caught on film. Remember that woman.

Today I had to change your Grandmother's soiled underclothing. Today I had to take an ice cream cone away from her as she tried to eat the napkin wrapped around the cone. Today we sat in silence as she stared vacantly off into space with no words forming in her mind. If her thoughts were trapped inside her head she gave up trying to make them come out long ago. I love this woman, she is my mother, but she is not the woman I want to remember.

And I would rather you remember her not as she is, but as she was.

There are so many things I remember about her: I remember her infuriating words, "Yours will be the moral victory." I remember her having a snack waiting for me after school. I remember her sitting at her sewing machine at the kitchen table and making dresses, pants, tops and even winter coats. I remember her campaigning for Barry Goldwater and Richard Nixon (we all make mistakes). I remember her organizing the local 4H club. I remember her getting dressed up simply to go to the local grocery store. I  remember all the things that made my childhood good, and fun and safe. All those and more are things I want to remember.  I do not believe, if she were able to put a coherent thought together, she would want us to remember her as she is now. I know she would be mortified if she knew what she was doing.

And I would ask the same for me if my time comes. Remember the fun times. Remember the good times. Do not try to have me come live with you. I will be demanding. I will be confused. I will panic when left alone. I will disrupt your life in ways you can not imagine. And you WILL resent me.

I am asking you now. If the time comes, put me in a nursing home. And don't feel guilty about it. And don't come to visit me. I really won't be aware that it is Christmas or a grandchild's birthday. And it will break your heart to know I don't know who you are.


So, dear children, I am letting you off the hook now.  If I should fall victim to dementia as your grandmother has, please do this one thing for me. I will bear you no ill will. I won't even know who you are.