On True's Bracelet

I was recently able to visit the last of my Grandparents for the first time in 3 or more years. Since I last left my Grandmother on my Mother's side she has fallen deeper into a state of Alzheimer's induced insanity. She has been bedridden after falling and breaking her hip a month ago. She is recovering nicely, so she says. She is no longer in pain but is a captive of the horizontal. She remains either in her bed or cart when they need to move her.

Three of her four children were there to see her through the initial surgery and following couple of days after her fall. If any good came out of it, it reconnected a part of the family that has been a bit neglectful of each other for a while now, as it goes sometimes. It turns out that families need each other after all.

I finally mustered the courage to go and visit her at the Alzheimer's facility on my own. I was hesitant for a few reasons. One, I hadn't seen her in a while and was scared that her degradation would be frightening. Two, I didn't know the full protocol as far as visiting someone in her facility. And Three, I wasn't sure if I'd be recognized as my father or at all, for that matter. I hold a tremendous resemblance to him and I don't know what kind of terms my father and her were on when last they had the pleasure of each others company.

I walked through the front door of this sunny boardinghouse for the mentally aged, stuffed the car keys in my back pocket and signed myself in as there to see Truly Patton, my grandmother. I stood in the "reception area" waiting for anyone to be around who knew what I was doing there. Robin, one of the owners, came around the corner. She was on the phone with her mother, the other owner. Rolling her eyes in frustration she got off the phone and exclaimed, "I don't even know why I call her, a simple question turns into a 10 minute conversation." My response is a smile and then the question of whether or not its alright to see "Gram." "Gram" is how I've always known my mother's mother. She will always be "Gram" to me.

Robin shows me to her room and announces my presence. Gram has been napping all morning in her bed with the metal safety bars preventing her rolling off in the night. She is wearing the t-shirt that my uncle had given her with her with the picture of his family printed large on the front. Its nice that she knows her family loves her.

She told me that "Pop," my grandfather who hasn't been of this earth for over 5 years, has been giving her problems, but looks good. Its good to hear. Apparently, in the twists and turns of her mind, he has fallen a couple of times, hurt his eye once, and always ends up being ok according to the doctors from which he reports back. She sees many of the members of the family that have long been deceased. She tangles the past with the events of today but is very present and coherent in our conversation.

I clean her glasses for her with the tail of my shirt. I tell her that I was worried that she wouldn't recognize me. She laughs at me. Its kinda cute, really. I show her the heirloom bracelet that I wear on my right wrist. In a wave of recognition that seems to pass over her eyes like dawn's morning light she immediately says, "Oh, that was mom's. Daddy made it for her. It's so wonderful for you to have that."

From somewhere in the muddled synapses of her deteriorating brain she was able to pull the memory of the bracelet. My heart is warmed from around my wrist.

As the story goes, my Great-Grandfather, Bob, was diagnosed with tuberculosis at a fairly young age. Back then it was common practice to send the afflicted to a sanatorium, a place where the fresh air and isolation was to mend particular diseases. His was in the mountains of North Carolina. He had been married to my great grandmother for some time and had to leave her and their two children behind in the hopes that he could get better. His wife's name was Truman, but everyone called her True.

Bob participated in the metal working that was offered as one of many activities used to keep patients occupied. He beautifully inscribed "True" into the silver on the bracelet that I now wear. He forged it in 1928 for True and she wore it until the day she died. My Mother found it amongst my Grandmothers things while moving her up from North Carolina to Maryland to be within cares' reach. My Mother gave it to me. It fits perfectly and I take it off as rarely as possible. I hope to pass it on to my child one day.