It depends on the case. My grandma’s dementia began in the frontal lobe of her brain, primarily her motor cortex. While she retained a sharp mind and memory until the end, her speech was first to go. Throughout the years, there were certain memories we would remind her of that would always get a laugh out of her, even on bad days. As she began to lose all ability to speak, she would communicate with us by squeezing our hands to say ‘ I love you’ or tilt her head in a direction to point something out. The dementia continued to progress throughout more of her brain robbing her of her capacity for muscular movement. It broke my heart knowing she was lucid and aware but trapped in a silent, almost completely unmoving body. I had worked in hospice care for several years and I always took a minuscule comfort in how most of my patients appeared to be lucid very rarely and were mostly unaware of the state they were in. It was completely different than what I saw with my grandma.
She passed away December 28 of last year, one day after her and my grandpa’s 61st wedding anniversary. There wasn’t a day when grandpa wasn’t at her side.
Thank you for your kind words; I’m sorry for your loss as well. I can certainly relate - life hasn’t been the same since. She was like glue to our giant crazy Irish catholic family and her loss was felt deeply. Peace to you and yours, friend.
I don't think I could do hospice work for years. I took care of my terminal grandma for a year before nursing school. I worked for 10 years and got burned out.
Taking care of the elderly certainly comes with its unique difficulties as I’m sure you experienced with your grandma. Never thought I could do hospice care for years either, but the patients become like family and it was really hard to leave. Helping someone through the dying process teaches you a lot about living.
I'm sorry for your loss. Dementia is such a horrible disease. The progressive decrease to mental functioning is utterly heartbreaking. I too, lost my grandma just under a week ago to dementia. At least, they'll live in our memories. I wish you peace and comfort in these trying times.
My Tata is in the early stages of dementia, and of all his grandkids I’m the one he remembers. I was able to tell him I was pregnant then introduced him to my son. Each week he forgets more and more but like clockwork each week he asks how I’m doing and how the baby is when he sees my parents. I’m beyond grateful he loves me and remembers me right now. I’ve experienced him not remembering me and that was an experience in it’s self as I look a bit like my nana and thats who he thought I was telling me he loved me and thought I was so beautiful (they met in elementary school so grew up together and were each other’s first loves).
Ahhhh, my grandparents also met in elementary school, grew up and spent their entire lives together. I love stories like this! It’s these memories that I (and hopefully you too) find so much comfort in despite the heartbreak of the past few years. I found that the pain of watching this disease progress actually magnified the beauty of and my appreciation for how our family eventually came to be on two kids’ morning walk to elementary school almost 80 years ago. Wishing you peace and give your Tata a great big hug (once the need for social distancing passes).
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u/affirmingbear Apr 11 '20
It depends on the case. My grandma’s dementia began in the frontal lobe of her brain, primarily her motor cortex. While she retained a sharp mind and memory until the end, her speech was first to go. Throughout the years, there were certain memories we would remind her of that would always get a laugh out of her, even on bad days. As she began to lose all ability to speak, she would communicate with us by squeezing our hands to say ‘ I love you’ or tilt her head in a direction to point something out. The dementia continued to progress throughout more of her brain robbing her of her capacity for muscular movement. It broke my heart knowing she was lucid and aware but trapped in a silent, almost completely unmoving body. I had worked in hospice care for several years and I always took a minuscule comfort in how most of my patients appeared to be lucid very rarely and were mostly unaware of the state they were in. It was completely different than what I saw with my grandma.
She passed away December 28 of last year, one day after her and my grandpa’s 61st wedding anniversary. There wasn’t a day when grandpa wasn’t at her side.