Dementia took you from us.

I’m sitting across the kitchen table from my grandma. “Do you know who I am,” I ask her.

She smiles, with no recognition in her eyes. “No… you’re a cute young girl, I know that!”

My dad chimes in, “this is your granddaughter, Kristen. I’m your son, Jimmy.”

She shakes her head, confused. “Who? What son?”

On our most recent visit, she looked at me and became overjoyed to the point of crying. She hugged me, tight, and wouldn’t let go. For a moment, I thought she recognized me as her granddaughter, her Krissy.

She finally let go and said, “Why, I haven’t seen you since we were kids! I can’t believe it’s you. you look just wonderful! How’s your mom?” (My mom passed away 30+ years ago). I looked at her and asked who she thought I was. A cousin, she couldn’t come up with a name.

The dementia started years and years ago. It started with little things, like always calling me my sister’s name. Losing her keys, purse, things around the house. Repeating herself and not remembering that we’d already had the exact same conversation multiple times. Needing to write everything down so she would remember. We laughed about it back then and just chalked it up to “getting older.”

It escalated to not being able to care for herself… not showering, wearing dirty clothes without realizing or caring, always having expired/rotten food in the fridge. Driving to the store every single day to buy an unnecessary bag of cat food. Buying multiple copies of the same magazines every week. Getting confused while driving… on one occasion, she accidentally turned her car off and hitchhiked home. Yes, hitchhiked.

She eventually forgot who her family was… who SHE was.

It’s hard to accept that the witty, fiercely independent, hard-working, hilariously funny woman that was once my grandma is gone now.

The woman who was well-known in her small town for being the most popular waitress. My grandma, who used to hunt and fish and bragged about being in more than one fistfight when the occasion called for it. My grandma, who was obsessed with NASCAR and carried a wallet size photo of Jeff Gordon in her purse next to a photo of my dad, referring to them as her “two sons.”

Grandma Donna, who loved to grill and take us swimming and had a huge vegetable garden in her backyard. Who never drank anything but Diet Pepsi and her nasty NA beer.

Who once broke her arm trying to show me that she could roller skate backwards, despite being 70+ years old.

As a kid and teenager, every time you asked me who my favorite family member was, I’d answer “Grandma Donna.” I talked to her every single night on the phone and stayed with her on school breaks. Every time we got off the phone or I left her house, she would say “be careful and watch for deer!” My litmus test for boyfriends was seeing if Grandma Donna liked them.

She taught me how to drive, how to cook, how to crochet. She lived two hours away and still came to my parties, school concerts, etc. She got me hooked on Price is Right and country music. I considered her one of my best friends in the world. I could (and did) talk to her about everything. Even when we didn’t agree (and on some things, we STRONGLY disagreed), I respected her and valued her perspective.

My grandma – Grandma Donna – she’s gone now.

Her medications are not going to bring her back. Us reminding her of the past won’t bring her back.

The only place that woman exists now is in our memories. Her body now belongs to this frightened, confused, sad person. Dementia stole her from us. It’s heartbreaking to lose a loved one… it’s harder still to grieve the loss of someone who is physically still here.