Age

[asterroc]

An entry on someone else's blog about his aging father made me think of my Nga Boo (grandmother).

A sad and beautiful story. My grandmother is in the same situation. She is 92 years old, though each time you ask her she adds a year to what she replied the time before. Some days I can have great conversations with her, while other days the best she can manage is "my mind... I ... it's... words..." A testimony to the fact that she knows she's slipping, and it pains and frustrates her. She takes comfort in my achievements, though she sometimes can't remember them longer than a sentence later. She used to be so vibrant and sharp, and I know that she would hate to see herself this way. It hurts me too. I sometimes comfort myself with the thought that the wonderful proud woman she used to be is already dead, and so there is no reason to mourn over the husk that is slowly withering behind. And other times I try asking her questions, prompting her to discuss things and just *think* a little, hold on just a little bit longer before slipping away.