I know I’m just as tired of saying this as you are of reading it…  It’s been a long time since my last entry.  I discovered a lot over the holiday, about myself, about my grandmother, about Alzheimer’s.  I found myself spending some of my Christmas money on others (my wife and my grandfather), an act that used to be the equivalent of chopping off one of my hands.  But I think I’m finally growing up to the point that I give without much thought, especially to people closest to me.

I used to whine about not having anything (as far as possessions go) to connect me with my grandfather, no handed-down pocket knife or toolbox, nothing.  This Christmas, however, I bought him a pair of slippers that looked like moccasins and while I was at it I bought myself a pair.  I felt like a child, smiling over how cool it was to have the same pair of shoes as my grandfather.  I also bought him a thick shirt that can be worn as a jacket.  I didn’t get one of those for myself, but I bought it because I knew he would love it.

As for my grandmother, I watched her become nervous and confused on Christmas Eve as she tried to recognize the faces of her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren while they opened presents, munched on ham and meatballs, and kissed her goodbye.  She finally became so nervous that my aunt opened a package with a baby doll in it and handed the doll to her.  “In hospitals and nursing homes, they give these to alzheimer’s patients all the time to calm them down,” she said.  It amazed me to see how quickly my grandmother relaxed as she rocked the baby doll and even showed it off to us.

Christmas Day, I returned to my grandparents to take another shirt to my grandfather.  Gramma was is good spirits and as I was leaving she asked, “Do you have school today?”

“No, Gramma, we’re on break,” I answered.

“Oh.  Well do you want to spend the night?”  I hesitated because the question caught me off guard.  She had not asked me that since I was about ten years old.  Later, at home, as I sat upstairs alone, I thought about her question and could not stop my tears.  Gramma had recognized me, but in her mind I was a little boy again, the young school boy I used to be, coming over during Christmas break to spend the night and eat ice cream or play with my new toys.

A part of me is still that little boy.  I’m tempted, now, to take her up on her offer, to come over and stay for a week or so in the summer, or even just a couple nights.  I miss that wandering, curious little boy who used to find comfort in morning cartoons and a big bowl of cocoa puffs, mixed with cheerios, rice krispies, and raisin bran.  I miss eating Grandpa’s cakes that stretched just a little beyond the recipe.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just emotional, but there is a quote in Kurt Vonnegut’s novel Cat’s Cradle from one of the characters that says, “We all missed a lot.  We’d all do well to start over again, preferably with kindergarten.”

Until later– “There’s no turning back now that you opened up to your mind.”