It is hard to believe it, but the end of this month will mark 5 years of TBI recovery. It has been difficult, but it has not been all bad, even though the bad is often the easiest thing to focus on. Every once in a while, when a storm rolls through, we are left with a beautiful rainbow. The rainbow above was from a recent camping adventure week. We would not have been able to see that rainbow if it wasn’t for the storm. Brain injury changed my life, but the subsequent inability to work led to some positive outcomes. One of those was all the time I was able to spend with my grandmother.

Shortly after my crash, my grandmother started having increasing health problems. After a brief stay in the hospital, she needed a little extra help and I started spending every day at her home in Boulder. This came at a point where the daily isolation was taking a big toll on me. I couldn’t yet drive, so Josh would drop me off every morning and pick me back up every evening. Grandma and I would sit together at the kitchen table and since I couldn’t do much reading, she would read the newspaper to me and tell me about what was going on in the world. She would tell me stories about her childhood, or about travels with my grandfather, and then after a couple of hours we would both go upstairs and take a nap.

After resting, I would come back to the kitchen and heat up one of the meals my mother had made for us and try to convince my tiny grandmother that yes, she could, and really should, eat that much. Lunch would last for an hour or two, with more stories, and me inevitably finishing my meal way faster than her as she chatted away. I would try to help with some laundry or some ironing, but often the afternoon would mean naptime for both of us again. When Josh arrived in the evenings, she would ask him about his day, pass the candy jar over and make him take a couple pieces of chocolate, the ask him if he was hungry and instruct him to see what other snacks were in the pantry. Grandma never wanted anyone to go hungry.

Theoretically, I was there to take care of her, but I’m pretty sure the caretaking was mutual. Grandma was more than just company. A stroke survivor, she knew first hand what I was going through. She could see when my battery was running low and suggest we both lay down. We talked about her recovery, and how after her stroke she would get overwhelmed and cry in the grocery store. She talked about struggling to read and being terrified to drive. Grandma shared a story about my grandfather pulling over on the side of the road and getting out of the car. He told her she was going to have to drive home, and if she didn’t they were just going to stay on the side of the road. It was the push she needed to finally work on driving again. She also talked about how much she hid her symptoms from her family. I don’t know if her children ever knew. Ever the caretaker, she didn’t want anyone making a fuss over her.

With declining health, Grandma eventually moved to an assisted living facility about a mile from our house. I would go over 2-3 times a week for a lunch date, where she would always demand I order dessert, because I was clearly “wasting away”. Then we would go back up to her room and chat for another hour or two.  Eventually, as both of us could do a little more, and I was able to drive short distances again, we started going out to lunch. For the last 5 years, I drove her to almost every single doctors appointment – the cardiologist, the audiologist, the internist, the dermatologist, the dentist, the ophthalmologist, the pulmonologist. There were a lot of doctors, but I made it a point to drive the scenic route and she would mention things that had changed during all her years in Boulder – buildings that were gone, farms that used to exist, and always pointing out the overlook where she would park with grandpa to enjoy a sunset. Either before or after the appointment we would go to brunch or lunch, or maybe get ice cream. These simple pleasures brought both of us so much joy.

Of course there was always the argument about putting gas in my car. She would demand we go to a gas station to fill up my tank, because I was driving “all over creation” for her appointments, and I shouldn’t be “going broke paying for gas”. I would say no, and she would say that she wasn’t getting out of the car until we filled up the tank. I would say it wasn’t necessary, and tell her that eventually she was going to need to pee so she was going to have to get out of the car.  To this she would threaten to just pee in the car, and I would give in and drive to the gas station laughing. She could be exceedingly stubborn.

During every visit she would introduce me to her friends, and it was always adorable. She would say “This is my granddaughter, the runner. She runs 100 miles”, and the person would nod and smile and say “that’s nice”, and clearly have no idea what she was talking about.  I always sent her pictures of wildflowers and the gorgeous scenery from whatever recent adventure I had just finished, and she would text back “having fun is mandatory”, a frequent quote from my grandfather.

Over the past year as I incrementally returned to work and had less free time, our visits became shorter and less frequent. Grandma joked about her “prolonged departure”, or apologized for sticking around and “wasting our inheritance”. I told her she was ridiculous. She would say that she needed to hurry up and get on with “this dying business” before I went back to work full time. Suggesting I shouldn’t “waste” any more of my precious time looking after an “old lady”, she would tell me I needed to get on with my life. Admittedly, I have some guilt about returning to work. She would be furious with me for feeling that way. Being with her less meant not being able to catch the little changes, and notify nurses about my concerns. She never wanted to bother anyone, so she would never tell the nurses when something was wrong.

Then COVID happened and my visits had to stop completely. Her facility went on lockdown and did not allow any visitors. We texted and emailed, and I would call her from the parking lot where we could at least see each other through the window.  In July, they started allowing  outdoor visits, and all I wanted to do was give her a big hug, which of course was not allowed.  She told me she would live long enough so that we could have a lunch date again. Apparently COVID was more stubborn than she was.

So you win grandma, as always. Your timing is rather ironic, as I’m increasing my hours and going back to work full time starting this week.  I’m getting on with my life and won’t be “wasting” any more time looking after an “old lady”… and that breaks my heart. We have always been close. You gave me the best advice about my love life, even when I didn’t want to hear it. You impatiently taught me how to crochet,  saying “this isn’t that hard, a 5 year old can do it”, and I eventually stumbled my way to understanding. Most importantly,  you helped me through these last five years, and I will forever be thankful for the time we had together.

In the aftermath of this current storm, I see a rainbow in my aunts, uncles and cousins, most of whom traveled here to grieve with the family. I cherish them, and I’m sure grandma would be telling us all to make sure we eat, because surely we must be hungry.

Cherish those rainbows because they are gone before you know it.