week 2 with grandpa & grandma

Twenty:

1. It's how many ounces of coffee Jason just ordered without blinking. We knew we needed to come get coffee for therapy this evening, but that's when we realized how badly we needed it. He's usually a 16-ounce guy.
2. It's how many minutes after we got home from a doctor's appointment today that Grandma looked at her calendar and exclaimed, "Oh no! We've missed today's appointment!"
3. It's how many years before dementia is even a possibility that we are going to sit our offspring down and plainly say to them, "When we get to such-and-such point, don't listen to us anymore. If we're too much for you, put us someplace for help. Do it. You have our blessing. We hope we raised you well enough that we can trust you with that decision."
4. It's how many times Grandma has whispered to Grandpa that we kids have been here too long. It's also how many seconds later she turns to him and asks if we were here yesterday.
5. It's how many times Grandpa has responded with "I dunno" and his signature shoulder shrug.

Our second week isn't over yet; there are actually 53 hours and 59 minutes left. But it has been much more difficult than last week because they are increasingly more decided that we should hit the old dusty trail. The tasks we do are outside of their normal routine, so they forget about them and can't understand we're around for their sake. Instead, they're starting to think we're milking them for something. I tell you, it's almost impossible to separate ourselves emotionally, because they're not yet totally out of it. Some facets of their real selves are still active. So, words hurt.

We're trying to remember how hard this is for them, how tough it must be to let that thing go you began striving for as soon as you could crawl: independence. The freedom to go and do and be. And now you have a couple of yae-hoos asking if you've taken your medication or if you need to use the restroom. Ridiculous! Who do they think they are, taking over our lives?

Still, when I put myself in their shoes and really think about it, I want to attain peace, not independence. I want to think that this is my lot. This is my time to let go, my season for fading. I'm going to sink into the loving arms of my family, to remember that God is holding me through them. Is that a fundamental perspective difference, a personality difference, or naivety? This whole experience makes me want to firmly establish those routines, those thought patterns of un-anxiety, of trust, that will last me.

My sister Rachel thinks somebody should make cookies, lollipops, etc. laced with weed for the elderly. I can't say I disagree. But also, elderly schmelderly; I could use a lollipop myself. Cream soda flavor, please.