This post is a little different from the ones I usually write, partly because it's not about my job (which I still love), though it is about being an adult and being a part of the real world. It is about the icky moments of adulthood, the ones where you realize that, if you were still a kid, you wouldn't be facing these issues head on (and I'm not talking about bills, though those are no fun). It is about aging, and illness, and forgetting. It is about the time you realize you are an adult because you have to tell a grandparent that they can no longer go home. It is about the time you realize you are an adult when you have to help pick out a nursing home for a grandparent, because it has become impossible to care for them full-time at home. It is about my experiences with Alzheimer's Disease.
Most of you know that I lost two grandparents to Alzheimer's Disease, my Granny (Mom's mom) and Grandpa (Dad's dad). They were diagnosed when I was in middle school, and both passed away about 6 months apart, during the spring semester of my freshman year and fall semester of my sophomore year of college. I watched, for about 7 years, as my grandparents that I loved dearly faded away, watched as their personalities changed and their memories were taken away. Watching someone you love go through Alzheimer's Disease is, I believe, the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching things you will ever experience. And I am experiencing the process again, this time as my husband's family goes through it. And let me tell you, even though it's the third time for me on this roller coaster ride, it doesn't get any easier.
One of the most heartbreaking things about Alzheimer's Disease, besides the fact that it takes away the things that make people human, is the fact that it is a death sentence. You don't see purple ribbon car magnets emblazoned with a proud, script Survivor, because there are no Alzheimer's survivors. Once you have the diagnosis, that's it. It is the only leading cause of death in the United States with no cure and no way to even slow down it's relentless progress (a fact I keep repeating because I absolutely cannot believe it, and a fact I will continue to repeat until it changes). When a person you love has Alzheimer's Disease, you lose them twice: once, when their personalities change and their memories fade while their body carries on, not knowing that the brain that keeps it going is slowly dying, and once again when their bodies finally decide they are done.
My Granny was the most independent person I have ever met in my life, and Alzheimer's took that from her. She had to be dependent on others, she could no longer live alone, and she could no longer drive (I will never forget when we had to take the keys to her Buick Riviera away from her). My Grandpa was the most social person I have ever known. He never knew a stranger - there is a picture of all the Elsten cousins in Gatlinburg, and in the corner of the frame you can see Grandpa talking to someone we have never met. Alzheimer's Disease made him silent.
They say that you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. Alzheimer's puts that to the test, when your granny, after just hugging you goodbye, tells your mom that you need to come see her more often. Alzheimer's tests that when your grandpa can't come up with your name when he sees your face or your senior pictures. Alzheimer's tests that when your grandmother, who has never had a temper in her life, gets angry, raises her voice, and tells you that she never wants to talk to you again. You realize you are an adult at those moments when your strength is tested, when you have to blink back tears when you tell someone you love that you're sorry they are alone, that you wish you could stay longer, that they can't go home anymore. You realize you have joined the real world, with all its cruelty, when you have to keep your voice from quivering when you have to tell your grandparent that "It's me, Courtney, your granddaughter" when you go to visit and they don't recognize you.
But you also realize you are an adult when you realize you can do something about it. You can push for change. You can use that newly found strength to fight for a cure. You can use that persistence to keep fighting, because it will be a long fight, and giving up is not an option. You will fight until Alzheimer's Disease is no longer a death sentence, until it is just a phrase that used to be scary. You will wear purple, and you will email your senators and representatives, and you will advocate for those who can no longer advocate for themselves because it's on both sides of your family, and you will not go down this path again. You will fight because you are an adult, a big kid, and you can help end Alzheimer's Disease.
If you are interested in helping fight Alzheimer's Disease, I invite you to visit the Walk to End Alzheimer's page for my Walk team, Team Angel at http://act.alz.org/goto/teamangel. This is my third year walking, and I will keep walking every year until Alzheimer's Disease, itself, is a memory. I will talk about it until my voice goes out, and that won't stop me because I'll write about it (and, let's be honest, I write better than I talk, anyway). The end of Alzheimer's Disease begins with me, begins with all of us, and we can make change happen.
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