Just a memory.

My Grandma R. is one of the strongest women I’ve eve known, hands down. She’s also one of the strongest willed people I’ve ever met, but that’s a whole other post.

I don’t know much about my grandma’s childhood and teen years, but I know enough to know it wasn’t always easy and her family wasn’t rich. She married my grandfather when they were both young and six children followed, four boys and two girls. The built a house; it burned down at some point. They moved to her current house, made a home, and headquartered a farm. Her children grew up. Most of them went to college. Her oldest, my aunt Lois, married a military man who took the family far away, to California and Hawaii. My grandfather passed away in 1976, which if you do the math means that I never knew him. My mom never knew him, either, seeing that my parents both met and married in 1977. My grandma’s youngest was still in college. My dad was working as a ranger (part-time/summer, I think) in Yellowstone. My dad came home, and the brothers joined forces to take care of the farm. That partnership fell apart when I was a child, yet my grandma stood strong, loving all of her children even when it was hard.

My grandma wasn’t just the land owner or the mother of the Crow boys; she was involved in the farm. She knew what they were doing and when. She knew where all the farms were located, even the ones with monikers like “the Lost 40” and “Pecan Tree.” Even more than that, she had input in what they should be doing, when they should fertilize, irrigate, whatever. My grandma wasn’t afraid of hard work or telling people what to do. And somehow, those things are part of what makes her strong and special and innately Grandma.

My grandma was an astounding cook, a sometimes hard-to-please dinner guest (she would tell you if she thought she made whatever better), and someone who liked to give. She was creative; she painted, sewed, could grow anything and loved flowers, and made a peach cobbler that would make you cry.

I think we all realized that something wasn’t quite right with her during my college years, but it was something we didn’t want to admit to ourselves, much less each other. She quit driving. Her cooking suffered, then she quit cooking altogether. She slept at crazy hours and had her days and nights mixed up. My mom and aunts would make her food and she’d forget to eat it. She was often confused and forgetful, and not in the normal she’s-just-getting-older way. Since I was five years old, my grandma has spent part of Christmas morning at my aunt and uncle’s house, then she would come to ours, we’d open gifts and eat a big breakfast together. One year during my final year at Mizzou or maybe when I was at Vanderbilt, she flatly refused to leave her house “because she hadn’t gotten gifts for anyone.” Like it mattered. Like we didn’t know that our parents had been buying gifts for us and putting her name on them for years. But she wouldn’t leave, so we all went to her house. She started offering us belongings and wouldn’t rest until we all went home with quilts she’d made in better days.

Shortly after that, she had to go into a nursing home for rehab after surgery to repair a broken leg. I think we told ourselves it was temporary, all the while knowing it wasn’t. Dementia was the word the doctors used then. Apparently, now they’re using the word Alzheimer’s.

This week, my grandma got combative. She’s been trying to break out of the nursing home and was absolutely convinced that someone was going to hurt one of my uncles if he came up to visit her (which is why she had to leave). She doesn’t remember my name, which frankly stopped being a big deal a long time ago. For awhile, her mind seemed to be somewhere in her mid-30s, married and having kids. But these days, she rarely mentions my grandfather and asks to be dropped off at Mommy and Daddy’s quite often. Apparently she got so upset on Monday night when they wouldn’t let her leave that she was inconsolable. And that breaks my heart.

It also breaks my heart to watch my aunts and uncles walk down this road, trying to decide what’s best for her. It’s difficult to realize that the Grandma I grew up with is gone. And it’s hard to watch this dementia or Alzheimer’s or whatever combination it is rob her of her memories and the chance of making new ones.

The nursing home is making some changes to her medication that should help with the mood swings, anxiety, and combativeness she’s been dealing with lately. Hopefully, that will ease some of the problems. If not, we’ll likely be looking for a new nursing home that is equipped to handle these kinds of patients. And I’ve been to the nursing homes around my hometown that are, and I can’t bear to see her there. So when you happen to think about it, say a little prayer for my grandma and my family.