The headlining act at this year's Shamefest was my 84 year old grandmother.
Hedy Alma Willavene (Sue) Bennett Miller is a Living Legend of Shame, and while she has all-around talent, she specializes in Shameful emotions (and the suppression of said emotions.) The really amazing thing is that Grammie (as we call her) had no clue she was headlining anything. She was the center of everyone's attention - which she loves, but denies - and she didn't even know it.
Grammie has been diagnosed with Dementia ("Alzheimer's-type" her doctor says) and has recently been moved, against her will, to an assisted living facility. Fiercely independent, Grammie cannot fathom that she is now living in a place where people she barely knows can walk into her "apartment" and check up on her. Some days she imagines she is in the hospital, others - it seems - a prison. She talks like she is going to be released for good behavior. She diabolically plans her escapes - calling doctors with lies of deaths in the family, or walking visitors to the door and trying to slip out. She has, thus far, cut off four "Wander Guards," bracelets that alert the staff if she tries to walk away. Whenever one of us visits, we surreptitiously search for scissors. (I scored a pair of thinning shears from her bedside table - but I had to stick them down my pants so she wouldn't see what I was doing. Danger!) Bottom line: the woman doesn't want to be there, and she is really, really REALLY angry about it.
Our family gathered on a Tuesday in her former apartment, with most of her furniture and collections of things, and talked about the estate sale we were preparing to have that weekend. The estate sale she did not know about, that she would forget about even if she knew. My mom works as a director at a Life Community - incorporating retirement homes, an assisted living unit, and what is euphemistically called "Memory Care." She is our family expert on all matters demented. As we discussed Grammie's current condition, everyone got emotional. Everyone felt bad for what we were doing. We knew how much these things that surrounded us meant to her, and we were trying to put a price on them. My mom summed it up when she said "Families of those with dementia have to say goodbye twice." And that's what we were really all there to do. To say goodbye to the Grammie that we knew, to the Grammie who would know us.
Part of that statement assumes that the Grammie we knew was a kinder, gentler, more perfect Grammie than the person we were now encountering. I imagine it is easy to romanticize who someone used to be, especially when who they are becoming is so challenging. But, like all of us, Grammie is a complex person. And as the oldest living member of this family, she is our only known source of some serious family dysfunction. I'm sure it has passed down from unknown ancestors, like hazel eyes and long toes, but she is the source we can see.
I believe that someone at some point told Grammie her feelings were shameful. It's really very simple. Anger, sadness, frustration, even exuberant joy, all shameful. And the longer those feelings have been hidden, the more powerful they have become. And the more powerful they have become, the more they have turned into something to fear. It seems that Grammie believes her anger or her sadness could literally destroy her. As a result, my entire family has one job - protect Grammie from her feelings.
I cannot begin to count the number of times I've been told "Don't upset Grammie," or "You can't do (or say) that, it will upset Grammie," or, on a couple of occasions "See what you did? You made Grammie cry." My entire family is participating in a conspiracy to keep Grammie from feeling anything at all - we are all terrified of her emotions, because she is terrified of them. The legacy? We all excel at hiding our own emotions, to the point that we are not even aware we are feeling them.When I was 12 years old, my sister and I stayed with my Grammie and Papa while my parents went on a trip to Scotland. One day, when they called to talk to us, I told them I missed them (of course!) and I started to cry. Grammie pulled me off the phone so fast, it made my head spin, and told me not to cry. Not to do that to my mother. The lesson I was taught? How you feel is not important, and your feelings are so disgusting they could harm people you love.
We've all paid our own prices for hiding how we feel, both in physical and mental health. I hesitate to speak for my family as a whole, but I see the results of holding so much inside. Depression, stomach ailments, even cancer, have all been linked to repressed emotions. The irony: now that Grammie is "losing her faculties" she is unleashing a tsunami of negative feelings. She may feel shame about them at her more cognizant moments, but for the most part, she is Shamelessly Enraged. She has 84 years to catch up on, and she is doing one hell of a job. The question now is how does this family cope with those feelings in all their power? What will we learn from her long-suppressed anger?
My hope is that all of us will learn to love her as she is, and love that part of her that no one else has ever allowed. Maybe, by doing so, we can all get better at loving ourselves, and move forward on this difficult journey with truth and compassion.
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