I grew up in a world immersed in fantasy and fairy tales. In my grandma Helen’s house sat shelves full of amazing books to stimulate a young girl’s imagination. During every visit, her father, my great-grandpa Thompson, read to my sister and me. Some of my fondest memories of him involved adventures with Heidi in the Swiss Alps, the Littlest Mermaid or Dorothy with her dog, Toto. His love of books was only surpassed by his passion for playing his drum. Whenever we came to visit, we always asked, “Grandpa, will you play your drum for us?” With a wide grin on his face, he shook his head yes, then carefully removed it from its box.
You see, Grandpa had been a drummer boy in the Spanish American War. He lied about his age to enlist then shipped out to the Philippines when he was only 16 years old. By the time I was old enough to ask, most of those memories of battle overseas had faded long ago. The doctors diagnosed him with ‘hardening of the arteries,’ an old fashioned name for dementia. In today’s medical terminology, Grandpa had Alzheimer’s.
Even so, he never forgot how to play his drum. Song after song, he played for us. He knew all the marches and cadences by heart. We never grew tired of listening. On his worst days, he poured out numerous bowls of cereal with milk for company that he expected for dinner. Often he put the statue of a woman that stood on a table in the living room in bed with him at night. In his mind, this was Grandma Bertha, his wife who died many years in the past.
As a young child, Grandpa’s strange behavior didn’t seem odd at all. He was the pleasant gentleman who always read to us and played his drum. But as I became older, I saw the frustration on his face when he couldn’t remember and the bewildered look in his eyes. In his last days, his condition worsened to the point that he was bedridden, no longer able to communicate with those who cared for him. Then one night he simply fell asleep never to wake again.
Dementia is such a sad disease for the person who loses their brain function as well as for their families. In America this year, 5.8 million people are living with Alzheimer’s. The cost of care for persons with dementia and the impact of lost productivity is staggering. Currently, it is estimated that the financial burden to the US economy in 2019 will be $290 billion. But this doesn’t take in to account the toll on caregivers.
When my grandfather suffered with dementia, his primary caregivers were my uncle and my grandmother. Often my mother helped out too. Even my sister and I talking with grandpa and reading with him gave them some relief. Remember this-caregiver burnout is real. They appreciate any assistance offered. If you know someone caring for a family member with dementia, consider volunteering to sit with their loved one awhile. Just having an hour or two to get out of the house or go shopping is a blessing. This might be exactly what they need to keep going.
Many years have come and gone since my great-grandfather Thompson passed away. Nevertheless, I still hold fond memories of him in my heart. In his later years, dementia limited him in significant ways. However, even with these limitations, he added great value to our lives through both his reading and his music. Who knows, perhaps his influence prompted me to write and my sister to play drums in high school and college. Maybe someday in eternity, I will have the opportunity to tell him how much he meant to me. Then I will ask once more, “Grandpa will you play your drum for us?”
Photo from Flickr in public domain
