My father left his native upstate New York as a young man, my biological Grandfather passed before I was born, and my Grandmother remarried before I was born: Gerald was the only Grandfather I ever knew. I grew up soaking in his tales of being stationed in India during the war, his father’s active resistance to the days of prohibition, the excitement of humans landing on the moon- he was the ultimate storyteller. He had an aura of calm and stability about him that I attribute to his vast wealth of experience, he wasn’t easy to frazzle. He was a rock; yet emotionally open on such an intimate level. He was an indelible anchor in my life, one that felt absolutely immovable- when the world seemed to dissolve at points, there he was, waiting with a smile.
Then the dementia came.
With parts so strong unraveling into an unrecognizable state- I didn’t know what to do, and knew I was powerless to affect any reversal of the situation. With the enormity of the situation weighing down, I started feeling detached, and I had the realization that this was the beginning of his transition from this world. What do you do with death staring you in the face? The only way I felt to make sense of it all was to document it.
Looking back on our time together, the most tender moments came from these last months, and completely transformed my worldview. I’ve come to realize in the most profound way possible that life is a transient entity, one that is best felt when fully embraced.
This photo essay documents the moments of copping with dementia and copping with the last life transition.
-m
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