Last week we buried my mother-in-law. It was a surprisingly
happy day as we rejoiced in the current bliss of her soul and the end of her
earthly sufferings.
One of the happiest times occurred when the family gathered
and we shared some of our memories of mom. As we did my son Will tried to get his out, but living with Williams Syndrome and zero emotional apprehension meant he only
got about four words in before erupting in a doleful wail that, “Grandma died…”
That was just fine.
What he wanted to talk about was his relationship with
Grandma. Will was born the year Alzheimer’s invaded. In fact, some of our first
clues about mom’s suffering surrounded her confusion at his birth and
condition. And in that way, the two of them lived with their disabilities
together.
2007 - Grandma and Grandpa and the kids
A year or so ago, when mom was rarely interacting with
anyone, we showed up for a visit. Will did what he always did – marched
straight over to Grandma’s hospital bed, took her hand, exploded in a massive
smile and gently started to sing-song, “Hi, Grandma!” Like so many times
before, she locked on. And to all of our surprise, mom smiled right back and
started playing a little game with Will using her good hand like a slow motion
pair of pliers. Will loved it. And he did it right back to her. It lasted a few
minutes and then mom drifted off again.
Did I mention Will loved it?
He seemed to have this thing with mom where he was going to
connect with her no matter what. He was not easily dissuaded and most of the
time he met his goal. It was sweet. In those little exchanges, the real mom
still came out. She loved children and in the only way she could, she still
managed to love Will.
