My last remaining grandparent has passed away. My MaMaw died early this morning.
I am sad, but she wasn't herself for a long time before this happened. Shadow and I lived with her when he was about 2 - 3 years old. Things were nice at first... we talked a lot and put puzzles together and painted our nails. We would walk up and down the road for exercise. Or go across the street and visit Aunt Exa. We even went to church with her on Sundays. I am grateful for those times.
Unfortunately, it wasn't long before I started to notice her having memory issues. It progressed until there were times I could look at her and tell that MaMaw "wasn't home." I hated looking at her and seeing someone that I didn't know, but I stayed with her as long as I could. She started doing really bizarre things at times. She became easily agitated and eventually became violent with us - saying mean things and trying to physically fight me. When she started waking us up in the middle of the night asking who we were... that was pretty much all I could take. I hid her guns and started looking for somewhere else for me and Shadow to live.
I hated to leave her; I loved her and appreciated everything she helped me through. But I was terribly worried for our safety; I recall attending class at Gadsden Business College and crying on one of my professors because I was so scared. As a single parent with not a lot of support at the time I had to do what I had to do. I took Shadow and moved out and left her care to her kids. I still visited for a time, but it became increasingly obvious that MaMaw's body was just her likeness; MaMaw herself had slipped completely away.
She eventually ended up in a nursing home and that is where she stayed for many years until this morning. I only visited a couple of times; it was incredibly difficult to see her physically breaking down and she didn't know us, anyway. So now she has passed on and of course I have feelings about it. On one hand I am grateful that she is no longer trapped in what I imagine to be hell; not being able to use my mind and body, but still possibly being "in there" enough to have an idea of what is going on terrifies me. On the other hand I feel a lot of guilt for not doing more for her, but back then I didn't have much to give. I guess I'll process these emotions when I get to them. 😕
With that I'm going to end this post with a share of one of my last happy memories of my grandmother. My mom and I took MaMaw to see some male dancers at some point before she was completely gone. When her mind started slipping she became a bit more adventurous so we took advantage of that and gave her an experience. This is something my normal MaMaw would have never agreed to do. But she had a great time, I blogged about it, and her photo was published in a book. Don't worry, y'all - no one ground their man-parts on my granny. She was swooning in this photo because that guy had just kissed her cheek. He was really nice and respectful. She vowed never to wash that cheek again. 😂😂😂
Rest in Peace, MaMaw. I miss you. ❤
