Alzheimer's All Together

I remember the day I first became infatuated with cooking...

(Part I).

Harsh fumes from burnt snickerdoodle cookies engulfed the living room, but the fighting had finally stopped.

As I fought for fresh air in the smoky room, I stretched out my legs, covered myself in a fuzzy blanket, and slouched prostrate onto the living room couch.

Finally, I had a moment of peace.

Then…

The shouting picked up again.

I told myself to ignore it.

But the voices grew louder and louder.

I tried to relax.

But their bellowing voices began to shake the entire house.

So, I tore off my blanket, launched myself onto my feet, and marched towards the confrontation.

I had to play peacemaker before they ripped each other’s heads off… again…

(Part II).

Pacing back and forth, my Dad pleaded, “Pap, it’s dangerous. You can’t keep letting her cook alone; she’ll burn the house down.”

Slowly rocking back and forth in his antique rocking chair, my Grandfather rolled his eyes and barked back, “It’ll help her remember. She’s got to cook. That’s her thing.” My Grandfather sat tall with his chin up as he folded the page of his newspaper.

“Pap— I know it’s hard to accept, but it’s just not safe.”

My Grandfather fired back, “Oh come on, Joey. She’s been doing this forever. You remember how many times she cooked you dinner in that same kitchen. How can you take that away from her? She needs this!” My Grandfather adjusted his circular reading bifocals.

A gloomy expression confined the face of my Dad, “Pap, I know. But things just aren’t the same anymore.”

I stepped out onto the battlefield and butted in, “Hey, it’s a little loud. Is everything okay?”

After wiping off his scowl and replacing it with a wide grin, my Grandfather responded, “Oh hey there, sport.”

My Dad chimed in, “Yes, all good. We need your help though. Can you just watch over your Grandmother while we run some errands?”

Leaning in close and glaring into my eyes, my Dad commanded, “Just make sure she does not cook!”

Uh…

“Great. Come on. Let’s go Pap”

Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

(Part III).

Leaning forward, hunched over a mound of fabric, my Grandmother hawkishly quilted a blanket as a bead of sweat slowly rolled down her forehead.

“Hey Grandma, how are you doing?”

“Oh, hey there, Joey. When did you get in? Come give your Mother a kiss.”

Oh no.

I felt my face flush with secondhand embarrassment. Does she really not know it’s me?

“Well, what am I chopped liver? Come here, Joey.”

“It's Wally, Grandma.” I slowly approached her leaning in for a hug.

“Oh, Wally. Well, haven’t you gotten so big?” She tightly squeezed my cheeks.

I shied away from her, rubbing my sore cheeks, “So what are you making?”

“I am making a quilt of… Oh. Uh, uh?” Fumbling for words, she hesitated and stared blankly at the ceiling.

I glanced at her lap and saw perfectly crafted figures, three pink pigs with white wings floating in the skyline and stitched meticulously onto a navy-blue quilt.

My mouth dropped in awe.

“Wow! That is amazing Grandma. You know my favorite animal is a pig.”

“Why of course, Joey. I made it for you.”

I stuttered, struggling to figure out what to say next. How could she not remember my name?

“Uh, well it’s really good!”

“You are too sweet. Are you hungry? Would you like anything to eat? Let me make you something.”

Uh oh.

I tried to decline respectfully, “Oh no. I’m okay.”

“Oh come on sweetie, you are looking a little frail. Let me cook something for you.” She jumped out of her chair and strutted towards the kitchen.

Oh no.

No.

No!

What should I do?

Think.

Think fast.

Think!

(Part IV).

After slowly setting all the ingredients on the counter, and stalling for as long as humanly possible, I grabbed a large serrated knife and leaned forward to slice through a lime.

Instantaneously, my Grandmother’s arm swung across my torso and she guided me while declaring, “Always put your hand above the knife while cutting. Don’t want you to slice off a finger.”

“Thank you, Grandma.”

As instructed, I sliced through five limes.

“Now, hold them above the salmon, and slowly squeeze all the way across.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

I slowly drizzled the lime juice across the top of the raw pink fish.

“That’s amazing, hon,” She wrapped her arms around me and pressed her head into my chest.

A wide smile swept across my face as I gave her a hug.

“Now let’s place it in the oven and it should be ready by the time your Father gets back from the store. Now take this down. It is important you finish it right. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Leave it in for 25 minutes. Comes out perfect every time!”

(Part V).

My Grandmother gazed out the window.

The fighting picked up again.

Could she hear them?

The door creaked open and my Grandfather announced, “We are back.”

Entering the kitchen, my Dad sniffed audibly.

The sound of rage clung to my Father’s voice as he snarled, “What’s that smell?”

Oh God.

(Part VI).

I scrubbed the mess off the plates and into the garbage disposal.

From his seat at the table, I heard my Father declare, “That salmon was amazing! Thank you.”

And through the corner of my eye, I saw my Dad, my Grandfather, and my Grandmother with their arms wrapped around each other, beaming with joy for a mere moment.

(My Desire).

Sadly, my Grandmother passed away several months later after a long demoralizing battle with Alzheimer's, and for me, this memory is my last positive memory of my family all together.

Following her death, I have made it my mission to recreate each and every one of my Grandmother's recipes, thus, reigniting a piece of her spirit with each meal I make.

Using this passion to support a greater cause, my desire is to inspire Alzheimer's awareness with the art of cooking, and to initiate a new social media trend: “Alzheimer's All Together.”

To support this movement, I challenge anyone who has a relative, friend, or loved one suffering from dementia or Alzheimer's to spend time together in the kitchen creating his or her favorite recipe. Recognizing the challenges of this disease, in some cases, cooking is far too dangerous, and thus, I urge you to cook the meal yourself, and share it with your loved one.

Next, I ask you to share your experience on social media with an image, or a video tagged with the #Alzheimer’sAllTogether.

By enjoying a meal together, each of us can give our love and support to those suffering from this devastating disease while spreading awareness.

Together, we can create timeless memories, and help find a cure.