03/02/2025
I was in my senior year when Grandma got sick. At first, she just became more forgetful. But each day, it got worse. After all the tests, the doctor said one word that hit like a thousand punches: dementia.
We moved Grandma in with us immediately. I'd hear her at night, talking to my late Grandpa George, like he was there. It broke me. Months passed, and things only got worse. Every morning, Mom would put the dishes back after every night, Grandma would rearrange them.
One day, I went to see her. She saw me, her eyes lit up. Then she said, "George! You're back!"
I froze. "No, Grandma. It's Michael, your grandson."
"George, what are you talking about? We're too young for grandkids!"
I stood there, feeling helpless. "Nana. I'm not George. I'm your grandson. I'm Carol's son ā your daughter."
"You're scaring me. We don't have a daughter, silly! And you promised to take me on that date by the sea. When can we go?"
I lost it. "I... I don't know..." Then I left.
When Mom got home, I told her. Suddenly, she smiled.
"Dear... you really are the spitting image of Grandpa."
She showed me his picture ā I barely remembered him. And damn, it was like I was looking at my own reflection!
Within days, Grandma stopped talking altogether.
The doctor said she didn't have much time left. I knew what I had to do ā for the last time. For Nana, while she is still here.š
