There's nothing quite like surprising your loved ones with your pregnancy announcement and seeing their reactions. My childhood best friend burst into tears, my sister confidently blurted out, "I knew it!" and my grandpa … well, he’s heard the news 60 times so far.
My grandpa first started showing signs of dementia about ten years ago, and every day since has been our own personal version of 50 First Dates. Like Adam Sandler's character in the classic rom-com, my family repeatedly shares "news" — both good and bad, old and new — that my grandpa processes, then almost immediately forgets. The silver lining: I get to see his reaction to learning that his first great-grandchild is on the way again and again and again. Nothing beats watching him light up each time.
My husband and I live about 30 minutes from my hometown, so I regularly get to see my grandparents. And in my search for low-impact, pregnancy-safe exercises, I decided to join in on their water aerobics lessons three times a week. As we get ready to lift our arms and start marching per the instructor's directions, I tell my grandparents and mom about my latest symptom. "You're pregnant?!" my grandpa asks. "Oh, I knew that," he immediately responds, less than certain.
Our interactions vary each time, but one thing’s constant: his big, toothy grin. These days, my growing bump also serves as a helpful hint that he'll point to with an inquisitive look on his face.
Dementia is an umbrella term used to describe a range of symptoms, including memory loss, speech difficulties and trouble controlling physical movements. The most common cause of dementia is my grandpa's condition, Alzheimer's disease. The Mayo Clinic describes Alzheimer's as "plaques and tangles in the brain," which makes a lot of sense given my grandpa's behavior and communication challenges. It seems like he's constantly trying to untangle the most twisted, complicated knot imaginable. Perhaps the most unnatural and heart-wrenching part of it all is going through our own grieving process when he's right in front of us. You could say that there was Fred Before, and now there's Fred After.
Fred Before did it all. He woke up every morning around 6 a.m. to perform his 30-minute stretching routine, consumed salads with no dressing and splurged on his favorite chocolate ice cream while working tirelessly as the CEO of the company he founded in 1976. He always made time for his family and rooting on the University of Southern California Trojans. He and my grandma would travel anywhere from Los Angeles to Europe to cheer at every football and basketball game, home and away, and he once confessed to the LA Times his obsession with USC sports was "like a sickness."
Fred After wants to do it all. He still makes his way out of bed each day, only around noon (though he swears he's been up for hours) and indulges on chocolate ice cream as a daily treat. But now he also often stumbles over his words and curbs on the street. His recurrent confusion is typically accompanied with frustration, a stark contrast from his incessant positivity before all of this. To a certain extent, he knows that he doesn't really know what's going on.
When I get to tell him about his great-grandson joining the family, it feels like I'm pulling Fred Before back again, even if just for a second.
My grandpa doesn't always know how to articulate his excitement and the words sometimes get lost in translation, but his smile says it all. I can only hope that our little guy has the same unwavering love for family and life as our inimitable Fred. I'm also acutely aware that our story isn't unique, and that there are near-countless families affected by this disease, similarly grasping to find some joy or even a bit of comic relief in times of great heartache. While some memories are more painful in the "after," I'll forever appreciate these precious, gleeful "surprises."
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