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Piotraschke: Playing With Grandma By Julie Piotraschke
Her grandma perched at the bottom, like most grandparents would, ready to catch her. At least that's what I envisioned. You know, the kind of snapshot moment that seems to be in everybody's photo album. It didn't happen. At the last second, my mom moved out of the way and Maddie skidded onto the gravel. Bam. "Mom, you have to catch her," I told her. Right, she said. We gave it another go. I positioned my mom at the bottom of the slide, got her to put her arms out, and sent Maddie down. Bam. My mom had moved away again, leaving Maddie headed into the gravel one more time. It wasn't the moment I had hoped for. What seemed to be such a simple obvious act had now gone missing. It wouldn't be back. My mom was diagnosed nearly eight years ago with Alzheimer's. Over time, it has randomly stripped her of what she knows. There's not a lot she's been left with now. The woman in the park that day could never have made it there on her own. Caregivers guide her through her daily routine—getting her dressed, brushing her hair and taking her to the bathroom. They usually have to remind her to eat and drink too. They keep her company and when she wants to "go to school," they head out for a stroll around the neighborhood. As she gets further away, I teeter between wanting to grasp as many memories as I can for my daughter to have with her grandma to the realization that in so many ways—like in the park that day—we've already run out of time. At 71 and 2, they're both headed too fast in different directions, at the opposite end of the learning curve. But from their two different places, my mom and Maddie have become friends. When we pull up in the driveway she kicks her legs with excitement against her seat. They talk a lot and even understand each other, though both their conversation skills are limited. They laugh over noises they can make and the funny people they don't know in the photo albums. They share cookies, crackers and lap space when Maddie gets a little unnerved at family gatherings. And when Maddie wants to go to the park, she always gets Grandma's coat to make sure she comes too. Along the way, her tiny hand will find her grandma's, holding her fingers longer than she will anyone else's. At times, my mom will snap at Maddie when she's too boisterous or too much of a 2-year-old. But it's quickly forgotten. So are the times when Grandma doesn't catch her on the slide or know how to push her on the swing. Those things don't seem to matter. They just enjoy each other's company. Sometimes the greatest challenges bring the simplest joys. Julie Piotraschke can be reached at juliep2@mac.com |
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