Silent House

Cody and I just got back from visiting our grandparents- his in Holdenville, OK, and mine in Centralia, IL, and there is so much I could share about our trip, but for now I want to write about my Afi. What I will say is that while we were in Holdenville, I was certain that Cody's dear grandparents didn't stop talking from the moment we got there until the moment we left- pick a subject, ANY subject, and they have a story for it! It was such a stark contrast to what we experienced in Centralia.

Silence.

When we sat down to eat, we would chit chat here and there, but there were not many stories that were shared. The radio and TV would be turned off, and all we would hear is the sound of crunching and eating and the ticking of the clock with the occasional hourly chime.

My grandfather, who I have always called Afi (Icelandic for grandpa), has Alzheimer's. He was fortunate in that it didn't start to ail him until he was already into his 90s. He was born and raised in Centralia, a tiny town of currently less than 15,000, and has never lived anywhere else with the exception of a station in Iceland, where he met my grandmother nearly 50 years ago when my mom was just 12. They will be celebrating their golden anniversary on August 9. Afi turned 97 the day before we left.

His daughter, Ruthie, and her husband, Vern, drove down from a small town in Illinois a little north of Peoria. Afi couldn't be talked into getting out of his pajamas and into some regular clothes, so it was a low-key celebration. After lunch, they headed out to continue on to a friend's house, and the phone calls came pouring in. Kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, friends, cousins, you name it- they all called to wish him a happy birthday. It was so hard watching him forget within minutes who it was that he had been on the phone with. There were times when we were there that we would hear him ask my Amma (grandmother) who Cody and I were; and she would remind him. He was never frightened, he just didn't know who we were. And he always forgot we were there; it was a surprise every time we came walking out of the kitchen or down the hall from the guest room.

The only person he knows now is Amma.

The night of his birthday, we sat in the living room watching TV, when all of a sudden he started coughing horribly; the kind of cough that was so jolting his whole body would convulse. This went on for a while, then he decided to get up to go to bed. But he was so exhausted from all the coughing that he couldn't get up out of his chair. He tried three times before Amma had to remind him to press the button to move the chair up and forward. Once he was up, he started walking toward their bedroom with Amma at his side. Cody and I got up to help because he would push his walker forward but his feet wouldn't move to catch up with it, which surely would have resulted in a face-plant on the wood floor. Thus began about an hour and a half of him continuously trying to get up out of bed every two minutes because he kept forgetting that he had already done so. I can't say much more about what happened that evening, because it was too personal and heartbreaking, but his birthday ended with him being taken in an ambulance to the hospital. And he hasn't been home since.

There are no words that can describe the pain of watching someone you love literally lose their mind. I have very, very close friends who have been affected by this horrendous disease, some who have already lost their loved ones, and one who is only in the beginning, and I can only pray for strength to endure what is to come, or for a flat-out miracle to intervene. I suppose you can argue that it may be just as well that they have no idea what is happening to them; but when you look into their eyes and are met with a blank stare, you know that you are the only one who can carry on their memories.

As we sat in the emergency room waiting for the doctor, Afi started reciting a portion of a very familiar prayer. "For thine is thy Kingdom, and the power and the glory forever and ever." And that was all he said before he drifted off to sleep again. Cody and I prayed and prayed that night, and God, being the good God that he is, allowed me to say goodbye to my Afi the next day, and he knew exactly who I was. Cody got to see a glimpse of the Afi I always knew. I told him how much I loved him, and that we will be praying for him always. He told me that he loved me and that he'll see me later. And I know that the next time I see him, he will not be suffering anymore. He will be well again, and his mind will be whole. He will be with God.

What I will never forget is the beautiful picture of marriage that he and my Amma painted for my husband and I to see first hand. They have taken such tremendous care of each other through the years, and have such understanding and concern for one another, that even through this time of total uncertainty and yet inevitability it is clear that they have each other's best interests at heart. My Afi has always said that the years he has spent with my Amma have been the best of his whole life. There is an intense appreciation between them that left a huge impression on Cody and me. Let's just say that we have a lot to look forward to if our marriage turns out the way theirs did. I praise God that He gave us the time and resources to see them this summer. You can never know when it's too late.

The Dixie Chicks wrote a song about the loss of the lead singer's grandmother to Alzheimer's. As much as it breaks my heart, I haven't been able to stop listening to it since we got back. Songs always speak to me, and this one is certainly no exception. (No idea who the people are in the video... it's just the only one I could find that I could embed.)

These walls have eyes
Rows of photographs
And faces like mine
Who do we become
Without knowing where
We started from

It's true I'm missing you
As I stand alone in your room

Everyday that will pass you by
Every name that you won't recall
Everything that you made by hand
Everything that you know by heart

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house

One room
Two single beds
In the closet hangs
Your favorite dress
The books that you read
Are in scattered piles
Of paper shreds

Everything that you made by hand
Everything that you know by heart

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
Silent house

In the garden off the living room
A chill fills the air
And the lilies bloom

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house

Silent house