Alzheimer's Home: A Short Story

A Storyteller’s Home

“I hope you remember the way home from here,” my grandpa said to my sister and I during one of our walks. Of course I knew the way back home. Despite getting caught up in my grandpa’s numerous nostalgic stories about his younger days, I knew where I was. We had arrived at the middle and high school, where I would be in two years.

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Before Alzheimer’s took control of my grandpa’s mind, he lived in a farmhouse with my grandma. I recall going to my grandparent’s house as a child–the aroma of my grandma’s home cooked meals and the farm cats greeting my family and me as we walked through the door. Our whole family would gather around the table at every holiday. My grandparents didn’t have cable television, so my sister’s

Shock washed over every member of my family–how could my grandma lose a daughter when she was already losing her husband to Alzheimer’s. Months later, death took my grandpa, my storyteller, my grandma’s once gentle and loving husband, and my own dad’s hard-working father. Grief rocked the family once again, still my grandma remained stoic, through it all. Throughout the processions of the funeral, the memories of my grandpa’s stories rushed to my brain. The long walks, stories, lessons, and finally the sorrow that would wash over me at the thought of my grandpa never seeing me graduate, never witnessing me grow into a hardworking young woman. Perhaps that was the worst part of losing him, the absence I felt afterwards, both in my heart, and in my

My grandma survived losing a daughter and her husband within months, and has showed me that I have the power to remain tough through difficult times. Despising Alzheimer’s is easy when it steals a loved one’s memories, personality, and senses. What Alzheimer’s has taught me however, is to appreciate every moment with those I love because I’ll never know if it’s the last one I’ll be blessed with.

The threat of Alzheimer’s still looms over my family, even though my grandpa’s fight is over. A fear of my own dad becoming plagued by Alzheimer’s creeps over me every time my dad forgets something. Will a day come when he doesn’t recognize his own daughters? It’s a terrifying thought, and it pushes me to appreciate whatever moments I’m allowed by the universe to spend with him.

Life is too short to hold grudges, and even though my grandpa didn’t know it, his forgivingness taught me this. In all, Alzheimer’s taught me to always remember that I have control over how I use my time, and I must use it wisely, for time is limited. Although they say time heals all wounds, time also causes one to forget. What I know now though, is that I can’t allow time to erase the imprint my grandpa made on my life. Time may rob the remembrance of a person, but the sense of love, the feeling of home will