I am the primary caregiver to my 90 year-old grandmother.  When people ask me, "What do you do?" that is what I tell them.  I never call her grandma, though...I call her Mert.

     Nobody in our family quite knows how or when this happened.  There are numerous anecdotal stories of this little, lost 4 year-old, in the cavernous Lazerus department store in Columbus, Ohio, screaming, "Mert!...Mert!...Mert!"  There aren't many Mert's in the world and it was easy to home-in on that tyke, lost between milinary and handbags.

     Mert, and my grandfather George, ran the Mary Lou Pastry Shop (my grandmothers real name) in the Olentangy Viliage area of Columbus on High Street.  They were THE bakery in Columbus in the 50's and 60's.  Mert decorated the cakes and George was the baker.  The Cincinati Reds, the Ohio State Fair, Charlie Weaver, Werner Von Braun, Gene Sarazan, and many other celebrites celebrated milestones with her creations.  George passed away in the early 80's and Mert retired 10 years ago from Albertsons where her final stint in the bakery business ended.

     A few years ago, Mert was diagnosed with dimentia.  a subsequent CAT scan showed a 70% blockage in her left carotid artery and was showing loss of brain mass.

     I was living in Asheville, NC at the time.  The restaurant I was running, Café Soleil, was getting ready to change-hands and the land which my modular home was on finally cleared the title problem it had faced for several years.  I needed to find a job and a place to live.

     I was talking to my mom about everything and she offered a solution to everything; come home and help her take care of Mert.  I had been downsizing my life since my divorce and had reached the point in my life that people were more important to me than things.  I dumped 2 tons of junk in the landfill, packed some personal things, and gave the rest away.  All that I own fits in a 6x10 storage room.

     Mom works at the pool supply store to max out her Social Security benefits and I stay home.

     What matters now, is taking care of Mert.  I am thankful for small things...the fact that she can still walk...with aid; that she can still feed herself, though at times she needs help with that as well.  I vividly remember this vibrant woman, size 0, with her collar turned up, 4" heels and a sassy leather mini-skirt...at 75.  She always had a broad smile and a quick-wit.  Oh how I miss her dearly.

     Many who are caregivers for Altzheimers and dementia patients will tell you the stories how they treat one person differently from the other...how they will lash out verbally and physically without warning...of the times of crystal-clear lucidity one moment and the fog of uncertainty and confusion the next.  Unfortunately, I get to see the side which isn't very nice.  After a few years, I have to keep reminding myself that this is the same person I remember though she acts like I'm a stranger...not in name, but in emotion.

     I don't sleep as most people do.  We have an infra-red motion detector in her room to alert us if she is trying to get out of bed.  She forgets that she isn't steady on her feet and could fall and break her hip...this would make her bedridden.  I brought my cats with me from Asheville.  Guava has taken to her and is either right next to her or is on her chest at all times...she cries in the kitchen when Mert has been out of the bedroom for an hour to signal it is time to go back to bed...because of her blocked artery, she goes into TIA (transient ischemic attack) if she is erect for more than an hour at a time.  Sometimes a TIA will bring about changes in mood...sometimes severe (hitting me and kicking me) and sometimes mild (thinking her parents are still alive and in the room).  WE always ask her what our names are and mom gives-in and answers the question...I make her work...lol.

     Last night, I was up all night.  I hadn't slept in 20 hours or so.  I kept going into her bedroom to check on her and re-tuck her into bed.  She kept talking about her dad...what he was wearing...that she wished she could give her mom a call but she knew there was a lot of ice in Ohio and that the phone lines were down...then dawn came.

     I went into her bedroom to answer the alarm.  I could hear my mothers alarm going off as well so I knew she was going to be up soon.  I tucked

 Mert in and she began to speak as she sobbed softly, "I'm so happy." "Why are you so happy Mert?" I asked

"I'm so happy you came back to take care of me...I wish I was in better shape but I want you to know how happy you make me."

The tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm so happy" she sobed again.

     I moved the chairs which help to keep her from rolling our of bed and sat down to hold her hand.

     Tears began to well-up in my eyes.  I don't do what I do for her praise or recognition, but to hear the heartfelt gratitude in her voice brought back the Mert who I missed for so many years.

     For a short while, grandma came back to visit.