Foot Schleppen

By John M Zurak

Last Sunday afternoon,  Australian time,  my Baba, (my Grandmother) died peacefully, after wrestling heroically with the bear that is Alzheimer’s.

In fact as I complete this little note in her honor they are laying her body to rest.

And all I can say is; I miss her deeply.

I should say having moved from Australia to the United States eight years ago with only one return trip, I have been missing her for a long time.

But now she has not only left me, left all of us, I really, really miss her.

I miss her because until last Sunday there was the chance, perhaps slight that I might see her again.

Alzheimer’s, what a beast of an illness.

For ten years she continued to travel towards the inevitable. Sure we all die, but for most of us its not so evidently plain. That is what Alzheimer’s does. It slowly strips the person of their mind and attempts to damage the memories we had of them.

We are fortunate that Baba left such an imprint on us all, that would overcome even the memory of this wicked illness. For me it has been much easier to remember her before the illness took its grasp.

I had left Australia while the illness was relativity new.  I did not have to endure the loss of one so close, while she was still alive. All I got were snippets of this greater article. A scrap from my mother about her not being able to bath herself. An emotive story from my grandfather that she could not feed herself. A headline from my aunt that she does not recognize us anymore.

Before I moved we had only a few little hints of the oncoming storm that Alzheimer’s would bring. The once life of the party now sat quietly in the corner with her right leg shaking nervously. The busied pace she had led her entire life was slowing.

Some of the first stage was a at times a little funny.

For example she always had drunk a shot of plumb brandy before she went to bed. It was an old traditional drink that would kill most sailors, but she had done so for decades because as she said it it ensured that she never got sick (ironic huh?) With Alzheimer’s she would forget that she had the shot. One time she got quite drunk. It did not matter I guess because she would not remember getting drunk anyhow.

But the last deacde proved that it was not funny.

She is gone, and I miss her.

Mourning alone is quiet a weird experience, especially since Baba is the first person I was really close to that has died. You want to understand what everyone is going through, and perhaps share in it. But especially in this instance, coupled with the illness I can not help but feel detached. The grief of my family has become a collection of stories rather than a shared grief experience.

Again it is okay, it is just different.

I have already heard of stories that the pain she has endured is over, and that is a good thing she has finally gone.  For too long she has lived with one foot in Heaven and the other still here with the rest of us.

I can truly appreciate this, and I guess a part of me feels that too, but since I was not there each and everyday I can not fully understand it. As this open casket has be kept from me the past eight years, and though I have heard the grief in my families voices a great part of me does not know the sick Baba. To me this death was not inevitable. Grieving her like this does not close the door on it completely. Out of mind can be out of sight. Though I knew that it was coming, much of me did not.

As a result I really miss her.

But this isolation has created a wondrous positive. All I am left is with memories. Happy sweet memories that don’t need photos to be triggered.

My Baba’s story is quite remarkable. A peasant women, she was born in the side of a Bosnian mountain in the then Communist Yugoslavia. This was a place that invented the term nuclear winter, with six feet of snow common place.

Veronika, with Marko my future Grandfather and their three children would leave this place, their home for generations for a better life, in an place that could not have been more different; Australia. This decision would positively impact her family forevermore.

To be sure this move ensured the future existence of yours truly but the hard work Baba and “Dedo” did ensured the safe security of the next generation. Not just for their three children and numerous grandchildren (and great grandchildren), but many family members decades later affected by the Bosnian conflict that sprung up in the 1990s, would be afforded use of their home; our own version of Ellis Island. There they would find food, money, shelter and outstretched hand of support, safe from the battering their old life’s were taking.

These people would get her help for a season. But as her grandson, I would get it for a life time.

So many stories.

I recall her excitement each Christmas because we would be greeted with gifts. (I had talked her into giving me money by the time I hit double digits, while my sisters got stuck with gifts that fit within her imagination. Haha) But the thing that really stuck out was the fact that in her excitement she would get the snacks and goodies out way before our arrival, probably by the crack of dawn ensuring that many of them become a little stale. Too excited to wait I suppose.

And I miss her for it.

I remember the smell of Pita, oh pita in all of its glory. The flaky crust evenly blended with egg and cheese and baked in a gallon of oil and lard to perfection. My skinny frame must have just induced her reaction of “you must eat, you must eat,” that is built into the DNA of all older European women every time she saw me. I heard it plenty, but i bet she could have said it a lot more.

And I miss her for it.

I think back to the many times I was fighting my many illnesses and my Baba was there on many occasions. She would be there to hold my hand and to pray to God above.

And in this I hold my strongest recollection of my grandmother. She is the first person I knew that was committed to the need for prayer. She prayed everywhere without shame.

I miss her for it.

My most vivid remembrance of it was as we were driving up to visit her eldest who lived beyond Mt Keira, a somewhat difficult drive despite it being only forty five minutes in duration. In the passenger seat without fail was my grandmother praying that we would not crash. I used to think she did that because she felt my grandfather was a real bad driver. But of course it was more than that. She just knew that that day might have been the final chance to praise Him in earth, and she was not going to pass it up.

I now know she was right, and I miss her for that.

Yes there was a difficult side to her. She was hard women.  A stubborn person. Though tell me a Bosnian that is not. She always felt like she knew best.  But surviving Tito’s Yugoslavia and thriving in a new foreign land might have played a big part in that. After all we are a product of our environment. And these environments were not easy. But my mother told me how she had changed over the years. Become more forgiving. More gentle. She was a different person by the time her grandkid’s came along.

The praying had a positive effect on her too and I am thankful to God for that.

She still ran a tight ship at home, mostly in the image she wanted it. As a result it could be quite funny. My favorite story was one my mum would tell often. On one occasion while my my grandfather was enjoying a meal that she prepared. He had happily eaten about a third of it, and yet my Baba grabbed the salt and begun seasoning the meal with it. My mother protested on his behalf, questioning her need to do that, to which my grandmother replied. “He does not know how he likes it.”

Baba knew what she liked. She had a style sometimes that was garish (if you don’t believe me just look at the flowered carpet on her floor). But she loved to dress up. She loved jewelry. She loved makeup. She loved color. People say that when she was younger she had elegance about her, and air of superiority. Some said that she wanted to be an actor. It seeing her weeding day photos, and old black and white that was hung above their bed in their room she certainty had the looks. Greta Garbo or Ingrid Bergman did not have anything on her.

However since it is written that the least of these in Heaven are greater and any on Earth this can not be in contention any longer.

And how I am grateful for that.

Veronika Sola, my dear Baba. Thank you for your life. Thank you for loving me. I don’t know if my words were enough. Please forgive me for they are the best I can do right know. I know I can not be there to officially say goodbye.

That is the price I have paid for memories untainted.

I think you are okay with that though. Just before I left Australia to move to the United States with my soon to be American wife, you caught a glimpse of me kissing her. We both saw you catch us, and you were cheekily grinning your approval. And though at that time you were in the first stages of what would eventually claim you, you looked happy for me.

I look towards you and it was your eyes that told the story. They were powerful stars, dancing those Bosnian dances with joy, for me. It was if God himself was telling you what my future held. And to that Baba I would say your eyes were right.

So though I will not be there at the funeral to celebrate your life and mourn your passing perhaps it is just. I was not there the past eight years to see your body slowly leave. I have none of this to thwart my memory of you. I pray that everyone else might have this too.

So although I have the isolation of the Pacific Ocean to almost mourn alone, I have not watched you die either. Regardless I hope all will rejoice your life. I know I will.

In your honor my dear Baba I dressed up all week at work, with a coat jacket. I will eat Pita sometime throughout the week.  I will wear an additional piece of jewelry in your honor. And will enjoy the opportunity your life has provided.

In the end I will be grateful that I got to know and love you.

And I am glad that other people did too, and still do, and in turn I will be comforted in the knowledge that in turn you loved them too.

And most important you loved your Creator.

And that is a life well lived.