My grandma died last Friday night. It’s awful, but I don’t feel too bad about it, really. To tell you the truth, I mainly just feel relief. She’d been bedridden and essentially catatonic for years, wasting away in a hospice in British Columbia. I haven’t seen her since the ’90s. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about 15 years ago and had been in decline ever since. Sometimes I worry that I’ll have a similar fate. (My brain already doesn’t seem as sharp as it used to be.) Family history, of course, can play a large role in determining who gets Alzheimer’s and who doesn’t. My grandma didn’t get diagnosed with it till she was in her early 80s, so I guess that isn’t too bad. Unfortunately, she lived till she was 95. I think I’d have to go the Hunter S. Thompson route if that happened to me.
Vanishing Mind
1 min read
