I remember you

You are not the you I remember.

I remember the you that fed us melted cheese. Not just the grocery store brand, but the good kind of cheese in the foil wrapper. And it was always accompanied with a glass of orange juice. To this day, a cold glass of orange juice transports me to my 7 year old self with hair down my back, running around on the linoleum floor.

The you now can’t go to the kitchen on her own. She has to be helped to get up and helped to walk to the kitchen. She certainly isn’t going to the grocery store and buying the good cheese in the foil wrapper.

The you I remember loved to eat family meals. She always had something in the kitchen for everyone to sit down and eat.

Now you hardly eat two meals a day.

I remember the you that loved birthdays. You would always bring presents for all of the grandkids no matter whose birthday it was. You didn’t want any of us to feel left out and I also think that you wanted us to love birthdays as much as you.

This you forgot that my birthday was three weeks ago. This you thought I was born in May.

My memory of you still drives around in the Purple-People-Eater Cadillac. She still talks of taking vacations to the beach or the mountains in the RV.

The you of now can’t drive. And I am not sure that the you now will ever see the ocean again. Or the mountains.

I remember the you that had a memory for all things. That you could name every stop you made during a family vacation in the 60’s and what every member of the family ate at every stop.

The you I see now is losing the ability to remember. And memories are being replaced by stories that you have dreamed up, stories so bizarre that they must have slipped from your dreams and into your reality.

The you I remember was strong. She watched one amazing husband be eaten away by cancer, doing everything she could to stop or slow the progress. She was strong enough to love again only to watch another husband die slowly. The you I remember was full of life.

This you is so very frail. Your skin is covered in bruises and in some ways your spirit seems weaker.

The you I remember had an opinion on just about everything. Honestly, the you I remember could be a little much at times.

You now have trouble speaking, period. Whether speaking is just too hard, or it is too hard to express you opinions, this you is almost mute compared to the you I remember.

I remember the you that once told me that our priorities should be family, God, job, in that order. I remember how that you would get upset when people would talk about how great heaven will be. You wanted to have lost loved ones back here with you, never mind how wonderful the ever after might be.

But I remember when you changed your mind. When death ceased to be scary and your priorities reordered themselves.

And I wonder what this you I see now thinks. Is she scared? Does she understand?

And I miss the you I remember.

But, as much as I miss the you I remember, I am still thankful for this new you.

You have shown me a new side of my parents; you have shown me how patient and kind they are. This you has made me more grateful for each encounter I have with you and more grateful for my family as a whole.

I love you. Both yous.