My grandmother volunteers at a daycare center several days a week. She's been doing this for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, she used to take me along with her. I loved it there. I loved "taking care" of kids even smaller than I was. I loved the women who worked there. I loved watching all those three-year-olds swarming over my grandma, and I felt so proud to be her granddaughter. Starting at around age six, whenever I spent a week or so at my grandparents' house (once or twice a year), I would go with Grandma to daycare. The last time I went, I was thirteen or fourteen, but the times I spent with my grandmother there are some of the most special, wonderful memories I have of her.
And today, she was telling me about the wild little boys at daycare now, and I tried to talk about our times together there. She just gave me a blank look and said, "When did I take you to daycare? I swear to God I don't ever remember that," in that slightly odd manner of speaking she has. She kept shaking her head, muttering "I don't remember that," over and over again.
Damn you, Alzheimer's, for taking some of my happiest childhood memories and ripping them apart.
At least she remembered my name today. I'm grateful for that.
Haven't checked LJ since Thursday. Woot.
And today, she was telling me about the wild little boys at daycare now, and I tried to talk about our times together there. She just gave me a blank look and said, "When did I take you to daycare? I swear to God I don't ever remember that," in that slightly odd manner of speaking she has. She kept shaking her head, muttering "I don't remember that," over and over again.
Damn you, Alzheimer's, for taking some of my happiest childhood memories and ripping them apart.
At least she remembered my name today. I'm grateful for that.
Haven't checked LJ since Thursday. Woot.