Grandma Dorothy

As Dorothy declined into Alzheimer’s, she would pick up these quirks. Like in the morning when she came downstairs and would come to my grandfather and say “Have I kissed you yet today?” You can see one of those moments below. She was also much more giving in the photographic sense. She no longer minded if her hair was done or she had dressed for the day. She was a willing subject. Partially because her children had a harder and harder time relating to her. There was always tension around control as she had a difficult time coming to terms with her declining state and the loss of her autonomy. Yet, her and I felt closer than ever. I remember her disjointed thoughts and sentences and how I always tried my best to hear through her words and focus more on her emotional state, which was always vibrant. Through that shared feeling, we could connect beyond words. She was not a quiet woman by any means, but towards the end, we would sit and hold hands in silence. It felt like the truest way for us to connect. After she died, she still hung around my life, setting off the fire alarm in our house where we were on the opposite coast as she left her body. And at my son’s birth when a photo of us slipped out of a book, me unaware that it was in there or when it got there. And even now her gaze of unconditional love (whether you were a stranger, friend or family) lives on in my son’s eyes. He has that precious gift of seeing that Dorothy gave so generously to the world.