While I speak about her in past tense, I do not mean to imply Aunt Lanelle is gone. She is not gone. She is just different. A number of years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. In her early stages of this mind-altering condition, you may not have even noticed a difference if you didn't know her. Names failed to come to mind, even the spelling of her own on one occasion in my presence. Yet, her smile and joyful spirit remained.
Until last week, James and I had not seen Aunt Lanelle in a few years since the onset. For years while receiving her detailed letters, we had the great desire to visit her home in the Pacific Northwest. Last week, a business trip for James allowed us the opportunity to finally visit. However, it wasn't to the log home she raved about in Clackamas or the more recently built Washington State home that had a picture window that framed Mt. Hood. It was at her nursing home facility.
As we made plans to visit, we were a little apprehensive. We didn't want to cause her undue stress, but we had a strong desire to see her. Before we saw her, we met with the activities director and asked her advice on the best way to approach our beloved aunt. We all agreed that we would just visit with her and not try to make a familial connection. We would just be James and Jennifer visiting from Georgia. After making that decision, we were led around a corner to see her. We then spent about 5-10 minutes looking around for. She was on the go, walking the premises with a friend, darting here and there. Then, there she was. Her little petite dark haired precious self. We had been told by the director not to expect much expression from her as she didn't show much facial change based on emotion. As we were introduced to her as visitors from Georgia, she commented that it was nice to have new faces around, then she looked up at James' face as his name was called. For a short instance, I believe there was a recognition. She smiled a very big smile at him. As quickly as it came, it faded. We exchanged a few pleasantries then she was off to walk again. A few minutes later, she made her rounds again, and we talked about her teal fingernail polish and how it matched her friend's socks. That made her laugh out loud, but it, too, quickly faded. She was off to walk again.
We left there with a smile on our face and a tear in our eye. I think we will always cherish our times with her, whether it was years ago playing Taboo and making her curse, getting her up on waterskis, or our latest bittersweet encounter. Aunt Lanelle is not gone, but different.
This was the last picture I took of Aunt Lanelle (right) with her beautiful and loving sister (left) a few years ago after the diagnosis.
