Claudia Corrigan | Opinions and Co-Spread Editor
Photo courtesy Claudia Corrigan

As I watched Aunt Chris mindlessly consume a marshmallow yam purée from the spoon I held to her mouth, I grasped her hand tightly in hopes she might reciprocate my clench. All I wanted was for her to make me smile like she always had. A selfish wish, yes, but by generating animation from a seemingly insensate Chris, I hoped to evoke that same warmth I had always felt with her around.

I squeezed her hand, prompting her to give me a glance.

“Chris, I love your new haircut! You look great tonight. Is that a new blouse?”

I half-expected her signature response: “You got it, right here, right now, right there, right now.” I continued to squeeze her hand, stroking her hair – anything to stimulate sensory contact. As I began to admit defeat, her eyes lit up. She had detected my grasp. Our smiles were simultaneous.

This past Thanksgiving marked the last time Chris had the physical ability to join our family for the holidays. Now in her late forties, she has developed severe Alzheimer’s, a common outcome of Down syndrome patients. She can no longer assert her independence through even the most trivial of activities: brushing her hair, walking to the bathroom, remembering her family members. Chris is solely reliant.
 

While we were gathered around the dining room table for our Thanksgiving feast, each of the adults in my family rotated into the seat positioned by Chris, mashing her food and assembling it into bite-sized pieces on her spoon. I seized the opportunity, knowing this would be one of the last two-way interactions she and I would have.
In the past, at events like this, Chris would have stood up, mid-dinner, and requested the attention of the entire table with the echo of her spoon (which I now held) on a glass.

*tink* *tink* *tink*

“Everybody, I want to say something…”

My family would silence.

“I’d like to thank my mom and dad…and everyone else for being here tonight. Thank you all for coming to celebrate this day…Thanksgiving. It’s so nice to know I have such great people – Hey (to my hooligan cousins), can you kids be quiet! – Anyways, I hope everyone here is having a good time. The food’s great….Thank you for listening.”

In that moment when Chris returned my squeeze, I realized what pure joy she had always brought to a room full of people, myself included. Chris is no longer the person she was; she doesn’t have the ability to be. What I’ve learned, however, is that although time may cause change, the memories sparked by even the squeeze of a hand can connect the past to the present. Regardless of her lack of action, Chris will always make me smile. Her love is not measured by her ability to express affection in the present, but by the culmination of speeches, letters, and scoldings she has given me in the past. This is why I believe we cannot judge people based on their immediate actions. Don’t drop a friend just because she forgets to pick you up before going out to dinner on Saturday – you must always remember past actions and what those measures say about who a person is. Only in the long run can we truly judge an individual.