Are You Ready?

I’m in my grandma’s room at the memory care facility she lives in picking out an outfit for her. It’s her identical twin’s memorial today. She’s lost weight over the last two years since her stroke and some of her clothes make her look frail. I want to make sure she looks strong today. She looks good in bright colors but it’s a memorial. I pick out a black dress with a colorful jacket. I pick black pants for under the long dress and black socks, I want her to be warm.

I’m rushed and frustrated as I do this. I should have come earlier but I was feeling emotional and lonely, so I procrastinated. My older brother is meeting me here and I feel better when he shows up. 

I tell him she’s in the dining room finishing eating and I want to bring her in and tell her where we are going. I’m not sure how that is going to go but I’m clear not being straightforward and giving her time process doesn’t feel right. He agrees and my face burns at the idea of seeing my grandma’s face as I tell her her sister has died. She has been told already, it’s been months now, but it doesn’t stick and she’ll say things like, “Where’s my sister?” when she hears music she knows she likes. To which I’ve replied before with a smile, “She’s enjoying the music too, Grandma.” But, today, I can’t do that.

I have everything set up and bring her into the bathroom to do her makeup. I kneel in front of her wheelchair, my brother uses the toilet as a chair, she’s smiling. 

I say, “Grandma, we’re going to get ready now, but I want to talk about where we are going.”

She stops smiling and can tell I’m about to say something serious.

I say, “We’re getting ready to go to your sister’s memorial.” I pause, “So, it is going to be a hard day.”

She says, “Oh.” and stiffens. 

I say, “How do you feel?”

She says, “Well, emotional.”

My brother and I nod and our eyes well.

“The whole family will be there,” I say, “and we will be right next to you. If you start to feel overwhelmed and want to leave early or go outside, we will be here to support you with whatever you need.”

She nods, “OK.” she says firmly.

“Do you have any questions right now?” I ask and she says no.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says firmly, and I feel proud that she is my grandma. Proud to come from a line of people willing to look hard things in the eye, even when they show up unexpectedly and we are uncertain we have the tools to process them fully.

“OK," I say, "let’s get you dressed up.”

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Review

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This story is tender, raw, and deeply compassionate, offering a moving exploration of grief, memory loss, and familial love. It captures the heartbreak of witnessing a loved one’s cognitive decline while still recognizing the strength and dignity that remain within them. The narrative gracefully navigates the emotional complexities of anticipatory grief and the bittersweet moments of connection that persist despite memory loss.

The story confronts the painful reality that this grief is ongoing—it’s not just about losing someone once, but repeatedly, in small ways over time, for both those with memory loss and their family, each reminder repeatedly opening wounds. Even with her memory challenges, the grandmother’s strength, grace, and composure shine through, demonstrating that vulnerability does not diminish human dignity. The connection between the narrator, the grandmother, and the brother offers a powerful portrayal of familial support and love in the face of loss.

The story conveys tenderness without veering into sentimentality. There’s also a quiet strength in how uncomfortable realities of memory loss and grief are confronted with honesty and compassion. This story is about bearing witness to vulnerability with empathy and courage. It is also about the unspoken bonds between siblings navigating shared grief, and the enduring power of family connection, even when memory falters.