The Bitch Is Back
The little cat came back from her summer vacation yesterday. She's been living in the country for about three months, no doubt sure that she was never going to be forced to leave again--while she used to be fairly nice wherever we required her to live, since bringing her home from the restaurant, she's been increasingly ill-tempered on each return to the apartment. Now she disappears for hours on end, she perches haughtily in out-of-reach places, and she snarls whenever approached.
Unusual behavior in cats, no? Bear in mind that our only other cat, a Siamese, is a meek little thing who never bites, keeps his eyes downcast and loves to have his belly rubbed.
Accompanying the cat was, unfortunately, my grandmother. I don't know if I should be so cold as to include the qualifier there, but she...changes things. From early in the morning until late at night, she needs someone to watch her to make sure she doesn't need medical attention, which she does often enough that it's not just paranoia on our part. She can barely walk the fifteen feet to the bathroom, but she insists that her walker is unnecessary and keeps trying to do small but risky things for herself. She can't manage the stairs more often than very occasionally (resting in her wheelchair on all six landings), so no going out with mom anytime soon. Every so often, no going out, period--I'll be needed as a semi-regular sitter myself.
Thanks to the series of strokes, she can't talk or read anymore, and she feels terrible about how hard she is to communicate with. She feels terrible about how much of a burden she is in general, having been very independent until the age of ninety-two. Nothing's there to distract her from this misery since she can barely hear the television.
My aunt and uncle have had her (and the cat, who is better company) for the entire summer--not by choice, but because she hurt herself and couldn't come home until she was recovered enough, and my mom couldn't leave work for that long. They aren't willing to give up that much time anymore, as well they shouldn't be. She's too far gone for assisted living, which was our original plan before we got trapped in the current situation. So that's that. She'll be living here, desperately unhappy, unable to convey the personality of the woman we love, and a huge burden, until she dies.
How horrible is it that I can't help but look forward to that day?
Though normally I attack you when you are this cold, I too have a 92 year old grandmother who uintil the last 2 years was spry and funny. She is gone mentally and partly physically now. She cant walk wears diapers etc.. My well meaning cousins try to guilt me into visits to the Nursing home. I was the only one who faithfully took care of her and visited regularly when she lived in Maine for 30 years and then in Albany for 4. Now she is nearby and I seldom visit. I have no guilt because she doesnt know or care who I am and it does not make me feel good, important or heroic to be there. I was there when it counted and if all my relatives werent doing it I would be there now but I dont have to be. I knew her best and I know she would rather be dead at this point then to live this way. Assisted suicide should be an option, it truly is the only thing we own (our life, body and soul) though Religions try and put a claim on it and dictate our responsibilities regarding death.......
I worked for two years with Alzhiemer victims. My whole viewpoint on aging changed in those two years.
Our culture fears death. It fears aging. It dictates to us contradictory ideas about both.
Death comes at the end of every life, blah blah blah -- yet we pretend it doesn't. We pretend that there is no purpose in death, that death is just plain bad, evil, awful, terrible, etc. etc....
But your grandmother is coming to the end of her life, with more and more slipping away from her. She's unhappy. Her unhappiness, despite anything she may do, will affect those who love her -- because you love her. When she dies, you may feel relief because all that will end. You may miss her. When someone dies, no matter what our philisophical or religious beliefs, it's fairly unanimous that nothing the living do will change it or affect the dead person. It's not horrible. It's honest.
I feel more sorry for the cat. Animals being what they are (and I've got enough of them in this house to feel confident) they do pick up and react to the feelings of those around them.
I was lucky in that both my parents died quickly, of natural causes, with little fanfare or trauma, without knowing what happened. Sure, I suffered and wished they had not left me, but the alternatives terrify me when I speculate. My mother could have survived her massive stroke and spend the rest of her life like her mother did -- helpless and semi-conscious, locked inside herself.
You aren't plotting to murder your grandmother for her money. You are wishing for the end of her suffering and frustration, and for the end of your own unhappiness. It is never easy to watch a loved one suffer when you are helpless to do anything about it.