“Mom, stop. You don’t have to go anywhere. STOP!” 8 AM, I wake up to the muffled yells outside my bedroom. It’s happening again. I stare at the ceiling in an attempt to block out the noise. It’s the weekend, I want to sleep. A loud knock on the door crushes my chance of dozing off. “Maggie, get up, help with your grandmother,” my mother says as she swings the door open, making as much noise as possible.

I approach the door to see my grandmother wearing yesterday’s clothes. A sweater set with matching pants, only partially buttoned. Her bright pink flannel pajama shirt drapes over it, tucked into her waistband. It’s obvious she dressed herself. “Come on Mom-Mom, let’s go downstairs.” I slowly pace down the steps, trying to hold her attention so she follows behind. It takes a few waves and some guidance, but we finally make it to the living room. Now, to get her to sit down.

“I have to go to work!” she argues, motioning toward the front door. “You don’t have a job, Mom-Mom.” I sigh.
“I have to go meet with Fran!” she replies, referring to her daughter, who lives nearly one hundred-twenty miles from here and has no plans to meet her today. The back and forth continues until I convince her to sit down. The TV screens a bright action-packed cartoon, the only type of show that holds her attention. This’ll keep her busy for an hour.

Alzheimer's is a disease that causes dementia, or loss of brain function in the elderly. One out of five people develop the disorder by age 80. Symptoms include forgetting words and losing train of thought. They also struggle to drive, recognize friends and family members, dress themselves, cook their own food, and other basic tasks. As of today, the disorder is incurable, but there are treatments to tame the symptoms.

I reach to the coffee table, where a basket sits, filled with a variety of medicine bottles. I pour a Seroquel and place it in her hand. She hesitates, then gulps the pill down with a glass of water. We return our attention to the TV and she dozes off. 15 minutes later, she wakes from her nap, sedate, no longer questioning where she was, or who was taking her where she “needed” to go. The rest of the family comes in to greet her. She smiles at everyone, makes jokes, and tells me how much she loves me. She and I were (and still are) pretty close.

I was 8 years old when she started showing symptoms. It was tough not being able to spend the day at her house, watching TV and eating ice cream, just her and I. I’m one of the few she still remembers, and I’m grateful for that. My mother’s eyes light up as she sees my grandmother interacting with the family, resembling her old self. My siblings laugh as she makes funny faces and jokes at my dad. We cherish every minute of this, knowing the medication will soon wear off and she’ll go back into panic mode.

Someone with dimensia’s loved ones often feel guilt, grief, loss, and anger. I have some really sad days, when I think about the good times, how caring and generous she was, and how she taught me great lessons every day. I was able to discuss her affect on the family with my cousin, Megan, our grandmother’s first granddaughter, through instant messaging. “Mom Mom has always been a mother to me. She was my savior,” she tells me.

“When I was 14, going on 15, I moved in with her and our aunt. It was a time when all I wanted was to be loved and looked after,” she explains, praising our Mom-Mom’s hospitality. “When she was first diagnosed, I think anger was the first major emotion. We didn’t accept or believe what was going on with her. After seeing doctors and specialists, we realized there was no turning back. I accepted what was going on, and I felt like I needed to take responsibility-she took care of me. Guilt, depression, anger, all of these things play a part of the loved one of someone with this disease. But at the end if it all, love takes over that.”

It’s the small things that happen that make Megan realize how much love she has for her, like when she tucks her into bed on thursday nights. “She always says something like ‘Oh, Megan, thank you,’ and inside I freak out- OH MY GOSH SHE KNOWS MY NAME!” Hennessy tells me.

Alzheimer’s disease is slowly taking control of my grandmother. From causing a scene as we try to get her out of the car, to debating over whether or not her obviously giraffe-shaped chicken nugget is a zebra, the disorder causes some unusual, sometimes difficult times. We overpower our frustration and guilt with love. We try not to sweat the small stuff, and we take care of her as best as we can.

“I try to be thankful for the time I have with her and the fact that we are still able to keep her home and active, and not in a home where I know she’d wither away,” Hennessy finishes her message. Alzheimer’s is a disease that affects both the person who develops it and the friends and family who surround them. It’s problematic. But it’s in someone I love, and I know she loves me too. So there are battles my family and I are willing to fight, along with over 5 million families all over, who face the same thing we do. We fight the guilt, anger, depression, and loss. We fight it with love, which is just as powerful.