Life Off-Label

As sad as I want to be, a part of me can be nothing but happy. Yes, partly because I believe you’re going to a better place. But mostly because you’re suffering is over. I saw how much Alzheimer’s took away from you over the past few years, and it was that hardest thing I’ve had to witness. For the last year we didn’t get to bake with you, go bowling with you, get spoiled by you, or laugh with you. We sat in a room where we pretended it was okay to stare at each other and make small talk like we’re strangers, when deep inside the both of us are just screaming at nature to put things back to normal.

I’ll always treasure certain memories of you, like spending part of my summer with you to go to those classes at College for Kids and the Audubon Center, feeling fancy while eating lunch on top of the Hyatt hotel, repeated trips to the zoo and museum that never got old, those awesome Space Jam pajamas you sewed for me, fireworks over Lake Michigan, all of the free baking lessons you gave me over the years, and so many more. Your stories of milking cows, teaching in a one-room school, and eating lard sandwiches during the depression remind me just how spoiled I am. I also love how good of a friend you were to my other grandma. You helped her get her American citizenship, and after my Opa died you taught her how to drive so she could get her drivers’ license. You and my other grandma grew up with much more adversity than I’ll ever have to, in times where society said women were supposed to be weak, and your strength throughout is what inspired me to be strong as a woman.

I’m positive I’ll never try a better recipe for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies as long as I live. Many people know those cookies because of how delicious they are, but I’ll always remember them for sentimental reasons. The first thing I used to do when I came to your house, after you greeted me with a big hug, was run into the kitchen and snatch a cookie out of the cookie jar. There was nothing better to wake up to in the morning than the smell of them baking in the oven, and I think that smell is part of what made the house so warm and welcoming.  When we were visiting you at Bay Point, going to that familiar cookie jar and biting into a cookie is one of the things that still gave me that warm feeling again.

Christmas wasn’t the same without you this year. We had such a nice routine… spend the day baking and preparing everything for the feast that would be dinner later, attend the beautiful mass at Our Lady of Good Hope, tear through the stockings after mass, and get the visit from Santa. Carrie made a beautiful scrapbook that shows almost 25 years of the whole family gathering at that house, and I think that’s a testament to the value of family that you and grandpa have instilled in each of us. It was a given, we went to grandma’s for Christmas, but it wasn’t ever a chore. It was something I looked forward to all year. As much as I miss you though, I know that Christmas in heaven with grandpa sounds a lot more appealing than Christmas here with Alzheimer’s, and I don’t blame you for choosing the former. Love you!