My superwoman is slowly fading away and the worst part is, I can’t do anything to stop it. She has a debilitating memory disease.

Alzheimer’s is a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking and behavior. The symptoms get worse over time and there is no way to slow down or reverse the results.

Picture a woman born in 1936, the oldest child of eight, raised in a small town in the South. A single mother of two boys and a girl, my nana was not only a grandmother, but also a great-grandmother. She raised her children and was instrumental in raising her grandchildren.

For two years, she took care of my sister and me. And when I was diagnosed with a rare, life threatening illness, Sydenham’s chorea, she was the one that kept everyone strong. She drove over two hours every weekend to visit me in the hospital. When doctors told my family that there was a possibility that I might not ever walk or talk again, she prayed. She even brought members from her church to visit me, so they could pray around me. She took care of my sister, while my mom stayed at the Ronald McDonald house to be close to me. Nana was my rock.

She is independent. At 70, she was still cutting her own grass, trimming her own bushes, and driving around. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anyone to do these things for her, she simply refused to let someone else do it for her. We always joked that at 72, she could run up the stairs better than any of her brothers and sisters, children and some of her grandchildren. She was and still is SUPERWOMAN in my eyes.

But I’m scared.

What if one day, she doesn’t remember who I am?

Her mouse. “Little Miss Maggie.” Or as I like to call myself, her “golden-chosen grandchild”?

Our bond is something that is so unique, so precious. It is something that goes beyond the normal grandmother-granddaughter relationship. At 17, I will not hesitate to jump in bed with her. I won’t think twice about going to sit in her lap, and even though she tells me “Girl, you are too big to sit on my lap”, I remind her, you’re never too big to sit on Nana’s lap. All the while, she’s laughing, pushing me off of her. 

As her Alzheimer’s  gets worse, I try to remember the good times we shared – her running around the house laughing as I’m chasing her for hugs. She was the first person who let me drive. Me, the girl who has been saying I want to be a street racer since I was six. Me, the girl who loves when people drive fast. I knew she was scared out of her mind, but because she knew how much it meant to me and because she loves me, she let me drive.

My nana is like hot chocolate on the coldest day of the year. She is the sun kissing my skin in the summer. She is superwoman and I love her.