When I was in seventh grade, my great Aunt Maria decided to come visit us for Christmas. Everyone affectionately calls her Tia. (Tia is Spanish for aunt). Tia had not visited us for a while now, but the timing was not by accident. My father and his brothers and sisters were deeply concerned that Tia was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. Of course, they discussed this quietly to each other, but I am certain that Tia caught wind of it.
My sisters and I were bubbling with excitement over the day of Tia’s arrival. Unfortunately, my father kept putting a damper on Tia’s visit.
“Now,” he would say, “Tia is getting old. She is not as strong as she once was. You all have to be careful and make sure to help her as much as possible.”
We would roll our eyes and say in unison, “Yeah, whatever, Dad. We know.”
Tia’s highly anticipated visit finally arrived. At first, everything was perfect. We ate. We laughed. We made memories.
Then, it happened. On Sunday morning, I came bounding down the stairs, all ready for church. My mom came out of the guest room with a worried look on her face. I could hear my father and Tia talking in Spanish in tense tones.
My mom gave me a tired smile and said, “Tia can’t find her shoes.”
I frowned a little and waited.
“She thinks the flight attendant stole her shoes.” She paused and closed her eyes. Then she said, “Get ready to leave in five minutes.”
After we came home from church, Tia grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go sit by the pool and talk. Just you and I.”
I smiled at her and helped her sit on the steps. We talked for hours, listening to the music of the pool’s waterfall.She bestowed upon me her wisdom and life experiences. Something that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
When it was time to go inside, I stood up from the steps. I started to help Tia up, but then stopped. She grasped the bar on the screen and started to pull herself up with fierce determination. I saw a strong woman defying her enfeebled body. I stayed alert, ready to catch her at any moment, but she did not need my help.
With satisfaction in her eyes, she said to me, “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
She looked at me and replied, “For not helping me get up. Everyone treats me as if I am a child and incapable of doing anything on my own. Thank you for treating me with respect and not as a child.”
Her words shook me to my core. I will never forget them. With those few words, Tia gave me an insight into the humiliation of the elderly. Despite all the knowledge an elder possesses, she is most likely treated as a child. All of the respect that comes with being an adult is ripped away. Instead, people treat her as if she is incapable of doing anything.
Shortly after this visit, my father’s, uncle’s, and aunts’ suspicions were confirmed. Tia has Alzheimer’s disease. This degrading disease robbed her from us. Now, she is in the later stages of Alzheimer’s. Her body is there, but her spirit is gone. How I wish I could go back to this last visit and soak up some more time.
Tia, I love you. This is my Valentine’s Day gift for you though you probably will never read it.
No comments:
Post a Comment