奶奶，依然愛你

M y grandmother was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease when I was in fifth grade. At that point in my life， I was a kid. I was selfish as all kids are， so I didn’t think twice about it. I had no idea how it would eventually affect my life， as well as my family， in such a large way.

I have a very tight-knit family， and my grammy is the glue that holds us together. I remember going to my grandparents’farmhouse every chance I could when I was a kid. My grammy would always make me chocolate milk and a Fluffer-Nutter sandwich. We would watch Winnie the Pooh movies and color—my grammy and I both love the smell of a new box of crayons. Sometimes， if I were lucky， she would take me to the barn to feed the calves or to see the new kittens. Little did I know， that these would be the childhood memories I would miss most of all.

As I grew up， I noticed my grammy changing. At first， it was just little things. She would forget where she set her book， or she couldn’t find her purse. Once again， I didn’t think it was serious. I could never have guessed how it would progress， transforming my grammy into someone I could hardly recognize.

There was one incident in particular that was my wake-up call. I remember thinking， “This isn’t a joke， and my grammy isn’t my grammy anymore. This is a serious disease.”

About three years ago， a tornado went through our town. Although it was heading straight for my grandparents’farmhouse， it died down before destroying my childhood sanctuary. My father and I went to visit my grandparents the day after the storm， just to make sure they were okay. I went inside to find grammy. I gave her a hug and took my regular seat on the couch across from her. We passed the time by talking for hours 1）on end， about anything and everything that was on our minds. The power was out， and it got dark in what seemed like a matter of minutes.

Then， Grammy turned to me， and with empty eyes that stared right past me， asked， “Now you’re graduating this year， aren’t you？” I was a freshman， so I was confused why she was asking me about graduation. Grammy was the type of person who could tell you the exact date and time when every one of her grandchildren came into this world. Her innocent question caught me 2）off guard. I assured her that no， I was not yet a senior； I still had a few years until graduation， and casually moved the conversation along.

Soon， my father asked if I was ready to go home. I silently nodded my head yes， and we headed out. As soon as I got into the car， I started to cry. My father asked me what was wrong， and all I could manage to 3）blurt out was， “Is grammy going to be at my graduation？”

It took him a long time to come up with a response， and when he finally did， I heard the sadness in his voice. “Yes. She may not know where she is， but she will be there， no matter what.” I looked at my father， and I saw a tear running down his cheek. I had never seen him cry. The rest of the car ride home was silent. When we finally arrived home， I went straight to my room. I locked my door and I cried for hours. That night made me realize that things were going to start changing fast.

Ever since that talk with my grammy， I have matured and stepped up. Her Alzheimer’s has progressed to about stage 3 now. She is at the point that she can’t see what is directly in front of her. When I see her get that look that says， “I don’t know where I am or what I am doing，” it’s my automatic response to help her by getting her a plate of food or easing her into a chair.

At first， I didn’t notice the strange looks I got from the other members of my family. Then， last summer， when I was cutting grammy’s food at a family picnic， I looked up and saw all my aunts， uncles and cousins looking at me. I just ignored them for the moment and went back to helping grammy. Later on， I asked my mother why they looked at me like that. She explained that they still picture my grandmother as the one who takes care of everyone else. They had not yet realized that the roles had switched； after years of being the sole caregiver of the family， she was the one who needed their help.

Now， I have a better understanding of Alzheimer’s disease. My grammy’s 4）deterioration has had a huge impact on my family and has put a lot of stress on us all. It greatly upsets me to know that one day grammy will no longer be able to look at me and say， “That is my granddaughter， Kayla.”

At my graduation， when I am sitting on the stage waiting to receive my diploma， I will look out over the crowded gym and see grammy there， sitting with the rest of my family. She may not understand what is going on， but she will be there. After the ceremony， I will find grammy in the huge swarm of people， and I will hug her. I know she will forget me someday， but I am not 5）dwelling on that fact. For now， I try to cherish the good days and to get through the bad days as best I can. She will always be my grammy and I will always be her granddaughter.

我上五年級時，奶奶被診斷出患有阿爾茨海默病，病情仍處于早期。那時我還小。我和所有孩子一樣自私，所以我并沒有把這件事放在心上。我也不曾想過這個病會對我的生活、我的家庭產(chǎn)生如此大的影響。

我家人之間的關(guān)系非常緊密，這都是因為我奶奶，她是把我們連接在一起的黏合劑。記得小時候，一有機會我就會去爺爺奶奶的農(nóng)場玩。奶奶總會給我做巧克力牛奶和花生醬三明治。我們會一起看《小熊維尼》電影以及涂色——我和奶奶都喜歡滿盒子新蠟筆的味道。有時候，幸運的話，奶奶會帶我去畜棚喂小牛或者看剛出生的小貓。我沒有想到，這些事情會成為我最懷念的童年回憶。

隨著我漸漸長大，我慢慢注意到了奶奶的變化。剛開始，只是一些小事情。她會忘記把書放在哪里，或者找不到錢包。再一次地，我并不覺得這有什么大不了的。但我怎么也想不到這個病會越來越嚴重，把奶奶變成一個我?guī)缀醪徽J得的人。

一件事尤其給我敲響了警鐘。記得我當時是這樣想的：“這不是開玩笑的，奶奶不再是原來的奶奶了。她得了重病。”

大約三年前，一場龍卷風(fēng)侵襲了我們的鎮(zhèn)子。盡管這場龍卷風(fēng)朝著我爺爺奶奶的農(nóng)場進發(fā)，但在到達前就已消停，我的童年圣地沒有遭到破壞。龍卷風(fēng)過后的第二天，為了確認爺爺奶奶都沒事，我和爸爸去看望了他們。我走進屋里找奶奶，給了她一個擁抱，便在她對面的沙發(fā)坐了下來，這是我一貫的位子?！?br>