Healthy Tips of the

SOMEONE I USED TO KNOW

Submitted by Bonnie Lewis, RN Dependent Care Educator

Caregiver Resource Center note ~ Matthew Rzodkiewicz, author of this compassionate story and my cousin, permitted the CRC to share it as we recognize National Family Caregivers

Disease Awareness Month, and that caregivers need increased suppor t to improve their overall health and well-being. As we honor all those who provide loving, dedicated care, please remember that there is still no cure for

million Amer icans.

the man said, referencing the New York Mets, whom we were watching on television. Smile and nod, I thought to myself, smile and nod. Knowing the inaccuracy of this statement, my heart sank as I realized the man I used to know was slipping away. The man I used to know was loving, caring, and humorous. As an avid Mets fan, he would always talk about the team. The man I used to know came to my own baseball games to support me. He and his wife would travel two hours to watch a team of hyper 10-year-olds run around a field. Ralph was his name; the man I used to know. He would play catch with me then take me out for pizza and ice cream. I stayed at his house every summer, where the man I used to know would show me which blueberries were ripe to pick and

to know allowed me to put in the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, even though he did all the work on it. Now it is I who lets him put in the last piece of the puzzle. The 85-year-old man I now know thinks he played professional baseball. The man I now know asks for his deceased siblings. He no longer plays catch or takes me out to

berries anymore. The man I now know

The man I used to know shows up from time to time. He speaks of his time in the Navy. He tells me he loves me. He thanks his wife for taking such good care of him. Then, within seconds, he disappears. My house is where the man I now know resides with his wife. The man I now know is dependent on the emotional and mental strength of his wife in order to function.

The man I know is my grandfather. He and my grandmother uprooted their lives and left their beloved family home behind. With support from family members and the

my grandma and grandpa moved into my house this past winter. Since then, I have witnessed the turmoil both my grandparents endure when attempting to cope with the horrid

I used to know would ask my mom,

breaking disease. Following my

the woman I used to know would

would soon be afflicted with the same tragic disease. The woman I used to know was a sweet, compassionate, warmhearted person. She, too, came to my baseball games to support me. The woman I used to know made my favorite meals whenever I visited. The woman I used to know would meet us for lunch and insist on paying. Her name was Grace; the woman I used to know. The name suited her; she was very gracious and amiable. The woman I used to know loved spending time with family, on holidays, or merely for a casual dinner.

The woman I used to know would come over to babysit. When bedtime rolled around, she would rub my back until I fell asleep. The woman I used to know watched Mets games on television merely because she knew they were my favorite team. The woman I used to know comforted me and told me I was welcomed at her house any time.

come around much anymore. The woman I now know is a recent widow of Eugene. The woman I now know wonders where her husband

replies. The woman I now know lives in a Memory Care facility. The woman I now know is no longer interested in family gatherings, has no desire to watch baseball, meet for lunch, or make meals.

Whenever I saw the woman I used to know, I was greeted with a smile

greets me with the same open arms, but with a worrisome look, clueless as to who is hugging her. She then looks

same eyes that used to watch me play

those vacant, hazel eyes, I am certain the woman I used to know is no longer there. The woman I know is my nana. Her husband, my pop-pop, recently passed away. She undeniably feels lonely, abandoned, and scared; witnessing how unhappy and lost she

is without my pop-pop depresses our family to no end. After attempts at hiring live-in caregivers, my family reluctantly put my nana in a facility intended for those with memory loss. Through these experiences with my loved ones, I have realized how precious and fragile memories are. When I reflect upon memories of my grandpa, nana, and my pop-pop,

cherish them more. Treasuring these moments is imperative because we never truly know when a loved one will be mentally or physically taken

hold dear every moment I now have

become somebody I used to know.

Source: Author Matthew Rzodkiewicz, B.A. Sports Communication and Public Relations is a Broadcast Associate at MLB Network. Mr. Rzodkiewicz is an Emmy winner for Team Production for Outstanding Sports Studio Daily Show.

DHI Repor t: September

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