Today I spoke on the phone with my dad. He’s doing well, by the way, and he and Mom were looking at one of my baby photos taken next to one of his albums so that my great grandmother could see how big, or rather, little I was. There were a lot of photos and announcements at her house and he brought them back with him from his last visit. I asked him why he had been down there and he told me that ‘Tee Ree, who had been living in the house, was not doing so well with her Alzheimer’s when he last checked on her.
‘Tee Ree was brought up by my great grandmother alongside my grandmother after her mother wasn’t able to raise her. They’re a close knit community so they didn’t do foster care and all of that. If somebody’s mama couldnt take care of em, we had a new cousin, or in this case an auntie, or something. LOL. She worked really hard and saved her money and lived alone. When my great grandmother got up in age and needed help, she went on to an assisted living place and Tee Ree stayed in the house. Everything went pretty well until a few years ago when she really started forgetting things. We found out she had Alzheimer’s. She was taking her medication and living what appeared to be a regular life. She even had a gentleman friend.
Unfortunately, things went south with the friend. He was stealing money from her (so of course he had to go). I think the way things went with that has taken its toll on her mental health. The Alzheimer’s is messing with the part of the brain that makes you take care of yourself and stuff, so she’s not eating like she should. Dad and her neice, who has her power of attorney, are having her evaluated to see if she is capable of living on her own. They have set up the money in case she has to go to assisted care. Sigh. The house has been cleaned up and thug proofed by Dad. (His words were a lot more coarse. Smh. Same old dad.) It’s ready if she comes back, but nobody thinks she is coming back. So the family archives that my great grandmother and she had gathered thougout the years (births, first communions, weddings, deaths and political campaigns) have been passed to my parents. My sister said some of em look like they came from slavery. I guess I’ll see when I go home.
It’s something how I can sometimes get so wrapped up in my own stuff that I lose cognizance of the fact that time is even passing by in other people’s lives, at least until stuff like this happens.