Alzheimer’s disease is one of the most insidious ways to watch a loved one die. It is never a slow, steady decline into madness that one could prepare for. There were moments of lucidity that were so poignant that it would be impossible to think that they would not slip any further, only to have that hope dashed in an instant when they forgot who you were or called for a relative who was long deceased.
I was always close with my grandparents, who took me in when I was 6. My mom had passed away from cancer, and my dad had succumbed to an addiction problem shortly thereafter. I don’t really remember my mom being sick, and that was probably for the best. I always recalled her beautiful brown eyes and how soothing her voice was to me. She showered me with affection, and I always felt safe and loved around her.
My father was another matter entirely. He was rarely around and I had only a couple memories of him, but what stuck with me was that I always got very queasy anytime the memories struck. He had piercing blue eyes and a voice that bellowed so strongly that I couldn’t help but feel threatened by him. He was apparently from a family with a lot of money, as I was provided a good life that was above the means that my grandparents could have afforded on their blue collar jobs. I grew up happy and healthy, and didn’t question anything until my mid 20s after the death of my grandpa.
I decided to move back home to help out my grandma; it was about the same commute to my office as a consultant and I knew it bothered my grandma to stay alone in the house. After some light resistance, she reluctantly agreed to have me stay.
Within the first couple weeks of my return home, I noticed that there was something odd about her grieving. Several times I heard her say “He can’t do this” in between sobs, and when I went to console her she clutched a picture of my parents. If I ever attempted to take the frame from her, she’d shriek like a wounded animal and beg me to give her space. Each and every time, I obliged and she would return to her gregarious self upon seeing me again.
Not long after, she began to behave more erratically. She essentially became nocturnal, sleeping through the day and wandering around the house at night, usually doing chores and finding things for me to work on during the weekends. I’d awake to find drawers open and their contents dumped on the floor, lights on in every room except the study, and random objects moved a couple inches to the left. Not knowing what to do, I brought her to a neurologist who delivered the bad news of Alzheimer’s disease, and told me to hire a nurse or consider moving her to a facility.
I decided to go with a nurse, and things seemed to stabilize for a bit. She was forgetful and sometimes thought I was my grandfather (We were both named Stephen, but she always called me Stevie). It was hard at times, and seeing a once proud woman having to be reminded of who the people she loved were was tragic.
After a particularly bad day, I took a couple Benadryl before bed hoping to sleep through the night. I was basically in a coma until I heard an unmistakable bang, glass shattering,and screaming. I sprinted towards my grandma’s bedroom and was terrified at the sight of her covered in blood. I gasped at seeing her hand trembling with the pistol, her eyes wide in terror pointing at the mirror she had clearly shot at. Thankfully, the bleeding was from the glass cutting her and not from a gunshot wound, and I darted to the bathroom after taking the gun.
Much to my astonishment, it didn’t even register to her that I was there or that she injured herself. She kept staring directly into the shattered mirror and repeated “Stephen, what do we do now?! He knows!”, and kept raising her voice anticipating a response that was never coming. I immediately called 911 and followed the paramedics to the hospital, perturbed at the events that just unfolded. Even though I wanted to respect her wishes and had the means to care for her, I knew that she was a danger to herself and potentially others and could no longer stay at home.
I was devastated as she called into the hallway to ask to speak to me, hoping to keep my emotions in check for the night. Her gaze narrowed as I pulled up a chair and sat beside her. I grabbed her hands, clammy and wrinkled with age, and asked her how she was feeling. She sat up suddenly and in a stern tone said “Stevie, what I am about to tell you is something that your grandfather and I never intended for you to know. We tried our whole lives to shield you from everything, but unfortunately my time is running out and you need to know the truth.”
She continued “The circumstances in which you came to us were much different than what you were told. Your parents had a wonderful marriage, living a life a luxury and travel most could only dream about. You were born a beautiful, healthy boy and there was no doubt that you were going to be loved and cherished by them. They moved to England for a time, and naturally communication wasn’t as consistent as when they lived here, but we weren’t concerned at first. You were her bundle of joy and were ecstatic when she agreed to come home for a visit with you.”
“When we saw her, we were equally enamored with you as we were mortified with how your mother looked. She had gained weight to more than double her size, and her tan skin was almost a pasty white. She refused to even hug us because she had strict orders from your father to never risk being bruised. She kept droning on about her sacrifices and left abruptly with you in the middle of the night after receiving a phone call from your father.”
“This didn’t sit well with us and we tried to find out where they lived in England for a surprise visit. It was remarkably difficult to track them down and we were heartbroken over the prospect that the two of you could potentially be in trouble and not help. We spent every dime we could to find you, and eventually got a tip that your father’s family had property in the States. We set out immediately to the house hoping to find out your whereabouts, but nothing could prepare us for what we saw.”
I instinctively slumped in my chair, perplexed. There was no way this could be a deranged rambling, but it was just too much to believe. Could she really have kept a secret like this from me, and why?!
My grandmother squeezed my hand and continued “The address led us to a mansion surrounded by woods on all sides and perched on top of a hill. We were greeted by a British butler who asked to see our invitations. We bluntly told him who we were and demanded to see you or someone in the family who could tell us where you were, and we would not budge until we were sure of your well being. The butler calmly excused himself and said that the master of the house would arrive shortly to answer all our inquiries and invited us inside.”
“I was shocked to see your father in the doorway, beaming from ear to ear like his guests of honor had arrived. “Dorothy! Stephen! What a wonderful surprise, so glad you could make it.” Your grandfather was irate and demanded to see you and your mother or else there’d be hell to pay. Stephen went on berating your father for another minute before that scumbag interrupted yelling “Enough!” so loudly the room seemed to shake. “Please have a drink and I will provide you with everything you need to know, and you will be able to see both Cristina and Stevie tonight” as he walked to the bar cart to prepare a couple drinks.”
“I was elated at the news but confused by the deliberate break in communication. Was the silence from our daughter involuntary, or had we done something that upset her? Your dad took a puff on his cigar while handing us a drink, and exclaimed after he blew out a ring of smoke “I am so excited for you to witness this. Your grandson is more special than you could ever imagine.” I was unsettled but your grandfather pressed for more information”
“For generations, the royal families from all over the world have had a special ritual that helps bring us all closer and ensures that we solidify our power. We never know who gets picked and from where, which means that the chosen ones can hail from anywhere. Each generation brings a different number of chosen children who actually rule the world, and they in turn must seek out the right sacrifice to beget more chosen children. This has progressed for centuries, with the chosen leading regardless of titles and who held the crown of a king or queen. Now, your grandson is the only chosen in this generation. This has never happened since the pact began, making him the chosen of chosens. Let us join the feast and celebrate!”
“We were led into a great dining hall that had people from all over the world, and all were staring at the stage on the far end of the room. There, your mother held you and looked down lovingly at you and was cooing and speaking softly. Stephen instinctively screamed “Carolyn!” at the exact moment a dark shadow began to envelop you two. All the guests began chanting in a language I couldn’t recognize, and all the lights went dark to the point where you couldn’t see anything. The only visible light came from the pair of red eyes from the stage, which grew wider and larger as the chanting accelerated.”
“And then, the chanting turned into a deafening screech that knocked me off my feet. When I came to, all the people including had vanished with only their robes remaining. The only other person left was you, completely covered in blood. To this day we don’t know what happened, but there was a box that was by your side and a tiny little key. As we approached you, a guttural voice exclaimed that the boy must open it when the time is right. The location of the box and key is scribbled on the back of the picture of your parents that I love; you must find it before they do.”
As she finished, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. I sat with my mouth wide open as she passed on, not knowing what to think.