When my Grandma started losing her memory I came to terms with the fact that she would be a different person in some ways. In many ways, I guess. But I had convinced myself , that through all the issues we would face, she would never forget who I was. I just knew that I, and my brother and my parents and uncles and cousins, were all too important to her for her to forget who we were.

 Last weekend I found out that in many ways I was wrong. But in others I was right.

I didn’t let it bother me when my Grandma started forgetting my name. Both my grandparents have been calling me Katelyn for at least 20 years.  I’ve even gotten a few ‘Brad’s’ and ‘Kim’s’ as well. So no biggie if Grandma can’t remember what to call me. But when I came up for breakfast last Friday and kissed her good morning, I had to hold back tears when she asked me who I was and where I lived. It was like a kick in the gut when I told her I was Randy’s daughter and she asked me who Randy was. I didn’t know how I was going to cope.

 So, I did the only thing I knew to do and relied on humor and patience to get through the day. And we had a good time together. When Josh came up for breakfast she squealed like a little girl, grabbed his face with both hands, and said “You are just so handsome!” over and over. Then patted his belly and told him it looked like he had gained some weight and walked into the next room, leaving my husband with a pout on his face and me reassuring him through my laughter.

Since my Grandpa had to be at church every morning by 6 to start making apple butter, it was up to me to get Grandma & Josh fed and clothed and to the church. On Saturday my Grandma got a distressing phone call from the nursing home about my Aunt Lucille and it sent her all out of whack. She was very confused and upset and all she wanted was my Grandpa. I didn’t know what to do to calm her down. So I grabbed her sweater, made sure she brushed her teeth, and got her in the car. She was crying and rambling and not making much sense. When I stopped to make sure she was uckled up, she grabbed my hand, and said “Thank you for loving me. You are very special. You are very special to me.”

 And that is how I knew in some ways I had been right about her. She may not remember my name or where I live or how we are related, but she does remember that I love her. And that we are special to each other.  She may ask me each morning what I do for work and how long I plan on visiting, but she still told me she was so excited to have me there and she still cried the day I left for home. It is the sweetest relief to realize that the relationship we’ve built can survive a cruel disease that seems to take so much. She may have lost a lot of memories, but it seems the strongest ones have survived. The ones of love. I realize that as we all progress through this ordeal even the strongest of memories may fade. That one day the humor may fade too and it will be only patience and one another that we rely on, but if it’s the love that lasts the longest, I’ll be truly thankful. And I’ll do the remembering for her.