She was in her room just waking up from an after-lunch nap. I sat down on the side of her bed and gave her a slow, gentle hug. She doesn’t always recognize me, and when she’s waking up she’s more confused than usual, so I wanted to be careful not to startle her. “Hi, Gramma,” I said. “I’ve been missing you.” “Where was I?” she sounded worried. “It’s okay. You were right here. But I wasn’t. I went to a wedding in Estes Park and then Pablo and I stopped by Faye’s gallery.” She squirmed, got to her feet, and started toward the door, looking troubled. “Faye’s gallery. I need to finish my paintings.” These days Gramma lives more in the past than the present, so she sometimes thinks she has a deadline to meet getting paintings ready for a show. Back in the day she was usually more excited than anxious about an upcoming show, but now the agitation and confusion that accompany Alzheimer’s throw her into a panic at the idea. I put my arm around her shoulders.
