Growing up, I have always been super close to my grandmother. She has always been a light in my life, providing wisdom and humor that would prove beyond valuable as I have continued to grow up. Throughout the years, I have always referred to her as “Bubbe,” which is Yiddish for grandma; my Bubbe has unfortunately –and inevitably – gotten older.
While not necessarily due to just her age, the effects of her dementia and its cruel theft of her memory have made it harder as the years go on. Since I am in school for nursing, all medical questions and plans of care have fallen my way as the “medical expert” in the family. Looking deep into patient records and having hard conversations with my family have made dealing with a loved one’s health all the more real and frustrating, especially at such a young age.Â
Dementia is a vicious mistress, causing my Bubbe’s memory to reach maybe 15 minutes of recall. Within one conversation, the cycle goes from “What nurse do you want to be?” I would want to be a labor and delivery nurse. “Have you had that rotation yet? Did you like taking care of babies? I love playing with babies.” Then right back to “What nurse do you want to be?”Â
It is disheartening, to say the least. Luckily, I find solace in knowing her long-term memory is still intact and her personality is still jovial and silly, but fear of the future lurks in my mind.
The extra challenge of being in charge of the medical side is seeing my Bubbe lie and be noncompliant. In one moment, she will say she is super active and in the next, she will talk about how she sits around all day and lives on a diet of cigarettes and candy. Having to go against her in front of the doctor is not only hard, but also scary. All my life, she has been on my side and been my best friend so having to butt heads and explain to the doctor how that is not the truth makes it feel like a betrayal. But I do it because I love her.
 I love her, so I will not let her continue to deteriorate when the solution is in reach. It would be one thing if she were in hospice and the prolongation of her life would only bring misery, but we are not there yet. Maybe it is selfish to want my Bubbe to be around when I have kids, but holding on to hope despite the outlook has become my focus ever since becoming the one in charge of her medical decisions. Resentment for being placed in this position at a young age is there, but it has had to fall to the side because, for so long, her world revolved around me; now it is my turn for mine to revolve around her.
Death is taboo, and while I knock on wood that her day does not come any sooner, it is inevitable. The cycle of your parents and grandparents caring for you and then you caring for them in their final days is real and comes with many fears and tears. From this, I say, treasure your days with your loved ones. Make every moment count. Savor every moment and hold these times near and dear to your heart, lest you regret squandering the precious moments you have while there is still time. Time continues to move forward, and with this, I urge you to be present and enjoy the here and now. It is hard to hold my Bubbe to the truth and keep her accountable for her health, and it is hard to be the bad guy, but I want her to feel loved, so I have to try. So should you, dear reader.
Life is already hard, but facing it alone and without knowing someone is there for you makes it harder. It is never too late to start. Be the face, be the smile, be the love and be the hope those around you need so that you can live every day knowing you were the light of someone else’s life.