The Grief That Comes Before Goodbye

Dementia creates a kind of grief most people don’t talk about.

You begin grieving someone long before they actually die.

My grandma was the kindest woman alive. She would almost cry if she thought she had stepped on your toe. That’s just the kind of heart she had.

She always greeted me with the biggest hugs. The kind where you felt completely loved the moment you walked into the room. She loved me unconditionally, and I never had to question that.

One of the biggest regrets I carry is that she didn’t get to see me after I left Jehovah’s Witnesses.

She never got to know this version of me.

And that breaks my heart.

Some of my favorite memories with her were at Gold Bar. She had a trailer and property there through a camping club, and we would spend entire spring breaks and weeks during the summer there together, just the two of us.

Those were some of the happiest times of my childhood.

We played progressive rummy for hours. We ate ridiculous amounts of popcorn and ice cream. In fact, we ate so much that I would sometimes throw up on the drive home. Looking back now it’s almost funny, but at the time it was just part of our routine.

She made those days feel simple and safe.

Despite growing up in a time when racism was common, she welcomed my husband and my children with open arms. There was never hesitation in her love. She adored my kids and loved them more than anything.

The first time I truly realized dementia had taken hold of her was one day when I touched her and she became angry and tried to hit me.

The way she looked at me in that moment is something I will never forget.

It wasn’t her looking at me.

I didn’t visit again for several weeks, maybe even longer, because it hurt so much.

After that moment, visiting became incredibly hard for me.

Seeing the difference in her hurts in a way that’s difficult to explain. It’s the feeling of her not really being there anymore. Even on the days when she recognizes me, the excitement she used to have when I walked into the room just isn’t there.

And that’s where the guilt comes in. I love her deeply and I want to see her, but at the same time a part of me dreads the visit because it’s so painful.

One of the last times I visited, I brought my daughter, my son, and my three-year-old grandson with me.

That day she was awake and alert and recognized all of us. When she looked at my grandson she smiled and said, “Cute little boy.”

It was such a precious moment.

He waved at her.

And for a brief second it felt like a connection between the very beginning of life and the very end of it.

It was truly beautiful.

When the day eventually comes that she passes, I know I will feel deep sadness. But I also know I will feel incredibly grateful that she was in my life.

The love she gave me shaped who I am.

And in many ways, I see that love continuing forward.

I see it in the way I love my own grandchildren.

The connection she created with me is something I will carry on. I will be the kind of grandmother to my grandchildren that she was to me.

And somewhere between holding her hand and watching my grandson wave at her, I realized this is what the grief that comes before goodbye looks like.