Saturday October 15
In the days following Gram’s death, I was consumed by sadness and engrossed in a deep fog that followed me everywhere I went and rendered me lost and directionless. I was going through the motions of life, but I was not present for it. This fog often left me unaware of my surroundings and it kept me distant - deep in my thoughts and memories. I was lucky, though. I had wonderful memories of Gram, many of which were funny and would have me smiling, and at times, laughing out loud – even at the most inappropriate times. I will always remember what a character she was. Was I grieving her? Absolutely, but I enjoyed remembering her antics and those many good and funny times. I had lost her, but I would always have my memories.
But as the grieving process goes, there were those "first time since” or “last time I did this, she was here” moments that accompanied everything that I did those first few weeks. Common when someone dies, I believe these thoughts are normal and integral to the healing process. They would diminish as I continued walking through my “now” life. They'd be there through the first year without her, though, especially during holidays, birthdays, and special events. I knew this from experience.
As much as I couldn’t imagine my life without Gram, day by day I was beginning to see it. Life, indeed, did go on, whether I liked it or not. I was alive and I had things to do. Some of these things – those more immediate - would be different now, perhaps more significant and definitely more reflective.
On the Saturday following Gram’s death, I participated in the Walk to End Alzheimer’s. I didn't want to this time, only five days after losing her, but I was compelled. This year, more than ever, I needed to honor my commitment – the commitment to walk each year since Gram was diagnosed with this nasty disease. I had participated in the Walk from the early days when it was held at the Pittsburgh Zoo. A few years ago, it was moved to North Shore near Heinz Field, which was a much better venue, since it had grown so much.
Around the time that they relocated the Walk, I believe, they initiated the Promise Garden, too. This has become my favorite part of the event. Each participant is given a large flower that represents their reason for walking. The flowers are made of large fan-like nylon petals attached to a spinner so that the breeze catches and spins them. The stem is plastic and long two nylon leaves attached. Markers are provided for those who choose to write something on their flowers. The long stem allows for “planting” in the Promise Garden – an exercise that each walker is asked to do as they approach the starting line. At the end of the walk, each person can retrieve their flower to take home with them. Some, though, like me, choose to carry their flowers through the walk, unwilling to let go of them. The Promise Garden, with all of the purple, blue, yellow, and orange flowers spinning in the breeze, is a majestic sight to behold. It especially was on this day.
For me, picking my flower this time was obviously different and doubly heartbreaking. Traditionally, I picked up a yellow, “caregiver” flower and wrote In Honor of Gram on it. But this time, I picked up a purple, “for those who have lost someone,” flower. It was difficult to find a spot at the table where the markers were, with all the people around it, but I managed to squeeze in and find a marker. As the tears rolled down my face and dripped on to the white plastic table cloth below, I struggled to write, In Memory of Gram.
She was alive the last time I did this, I thought as I looked out across the large crowd that had gathered and was working its way toward the huge purple balloon arch at the starting line. It was a stunning morning. The sun was shining brightly in the crystal clear, bright blue sky. It was beautiful and warm - about sixty degrees to start - a perfect day to remember Gram. Thanks, Mum, I mumbled as I approached the starting line, as if she granted this day to me specifically.
Over the years, the Walk has been a way for me to feel purposeful about the disease – in hopes of eradicating it; supporting others in my own way; and, of course, to honor Gram. This year, it was particularly so.
Furthermore, participation has been a solitary and solemn event for me. I didn’t socialize much and I walked alone. I was there to remember - to remember Gram, reflect on her life and mine, and to be grateful for her. This year, I avoided talking to anyone and when I saw people I knew, I ducked away or pretended I didn’t see them. I wanted to be alone with my memories.
As I walked through the North Shore, carrying my purple flower, my life with Gram, again, flashed through my mind, just as it did a few weeks ago, prior to her death. All the things that took place over many years – that seemed to be frozen in time for the last eight – now all hit me as the stark reality of walking in memory of sank in. This made things real and at the same time, still so incomprehensible. I suddenly saw that old life fall away in pieces right in front of me and disappear – slowly at first and piece by piece – but then suddenly it all came down like an old building being imploded and crashing inward and downward toward the ground. Everything was gone – Gram’s house, the dinners, the holidays, the special Sunday evenings when it was just me, her, and Jude; the yard, the work – all of it. Gone. It crashed down - unfrozen and real. Of course, it had been gone for years, but it was as if it was just waiting for Gram’s death for this huge dose of reality. None of it happened suddenly, but it felt very sudden that day.
As I continued to walk, my mind also flashed through the escapades of the years since this disease, reminding me that it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Scene after scene passed and I would laugh as they exemplified the foul, funny, outspoken character Gram was. Even the last coherent words she said to me demonstrated it: “I have to get the hell out of here.” I’d smile knowing all the people she had touched. I loved sharing her with others. Her antics were unmatched.
From this day forth, I would be walking in memory of Gram. Indeed the life was gone, but I had my memories. I would cherish them forever.
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