Trusting in God
We have one month left until my cousin’s wedding. He’s the second oldest of the three of us. He is eight years older than me, which means he was gifted a few more wonderful years with our grandmother than I was. We would spend day after day feeding the birds, eating home cooked meals, and watching our grandmother be one of the sweetest ladies in our town. Levi’s wedding is one month away, and part of his childhood won’t be there because of her life-changing dementia. In my head, I know that “Momma Jo” should be running around town finding her perfect wedding dress and bragging about how grown her only grandson is. She should be offering her input on the flowers that will be placed on the tables. Nevertheless, as Levi watches his bride walk down the aisle, our grandmother will be sitting in her chair not knowing her grandbaby is starting a new life.

I was three years old, walking down the hallways of my mother’s clinic. I would travel from door to door trying to find the perfect place to color. As I made my way down the hallway to the final door, I knew that the kindest, most gentle face would be waiting for me on the other side, my grandmother. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the clinic would almost fall to pieces without her being manager. Luckily for me, she made time between her busy schedule to lay blankets and pillows down next to her. She would laugh and play games. I remember her smile, her warming smile that reminded me of the cups of coffee she would fill with sugar for me. I miss her smile.

Now instead of being greeted at the door with a smell of cornbread and coffee brewing, I’m greeted with an empty kitchen. As I walk through the house I find the caretaker in the rocking chair. When I see my grandmother it’s not the same woman that was running a business a couple of years ago. She walks past me as if we didn’t spend every weekend together. I’m selfish, catching myself thinking, “I just want my grandmother back.” Who am I to say that this new woman in front of me isn’t the same person? It’s the same body, but the eyes are different. I can no longer see the emotions she used to display. The powerful woman that controlled the town for years with her gorgeous looks and charming personality, disappeared in front of our eyes. Why was our loved one taken away from us without actually leaving? Why haven’t I thought about how she feels?

Laying in her bed, wide awake wondering why she’s not moving. Staring at her chirping alarm clock, having to endure it until someone comes to help. The most powerful woman we know, changing almost overnight. Every day is something new that she has to persevere to try and perform her daily routine. Then she smiles and I’m reminded that she didn’t change almost at all. She’s the same grandmother that loves us. Instead now she watches us live from a distance and tries her best to understand our conversations. She’s powerful in the sense that she continues her days trying to be as independent as possible. Her spirit never changed.

I write these small parts of our lives mostly for myself. My grandmother was diagnosed officially in February 2019 and I have still yet to come to terms with the changes. We lost both her husband and her mother in late 2020. While we were all mourning, Momma Jo experienced a rapid decline in her mental health. We discovered very quickly that we couldn’t let her out of our sight for very long. I was worried for my mom and uncle the most, witnessing them watch their own mother change. When asking my family members how they feel about our situation most responded with the words depressing, stressful and unfair. Every day she awakens to read her Bible and complete her devotion. Through her hard times she has never lost her faith or her happiness and that reminded me of God’s plan. It almost makes me wonder if He had this happen so she could easily undergo the future losses. I know that if she trusts God as much as she does, that we should too. Then one day we will be together again, catching her up on some of the memories she missed.

‍