What's worse than death? If you think there's nothing that could be worse, you have never seen a person alive without living, like an empty vessel, just existing but ceasing to exist.

A few years ago, my family started seeing small changes in my grandmother: She would brush her teeth an extra time in the morning, bathe more than five or six times a day, and her food started tasting too salty because she would use double the amount of salt she normally used.

She began repeating questions and remarks and was constantly smiling. At other times, she would be so agitated and angry, always looking for something she misplaced. She was finally diagnosed with progressive Alzheimer's, and probably if my family had known more about Alzheimer's at that time, we could have helped her and done something to slow down the process.

Maybe we still would've had our Ma for a few more years. But ignorance about the disease and wrong prescriptions from doctors accelerated the demise of my grandmother's memory.

I grew up with my grandmother, spending the first seven years of my existence in her care. She would bathe me, feed me, sing to me, tell me stories, cut my tail when I was being miserable. I always admired her and was amazed at her strength and resilience when it came to being the backbone of the family.

That woman took care of all of us, always made it her number-one priority to keep her family together and happy. She was an excellent seamstress, had the most skilled pair of hands when it came to matters in the kitchen, and boy, that woman could tell a good story.

She was fun, yes, treated us great, yes, but she was a no-nonsense woman and would find the most interesting ways to punish my cousins and me for misbehaving, as she also did with our parents before us. And we all loved her; she was a mother to me, a friend and an angel.

It is the saddest thing to witness someone you love so much, someone you looked up to your entire life, who was so totally independent and took care of everyone around her, slowly slip away from the person she once was and slide into a world of nothingness.

Have you ever seen the movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"? Well, it was similar to that; it was as if she was turning into a baby again. As the months and years progressed, so did my grandmother's case of dementia.

I watched as she forgot how to comb her hair, how to cook, how to clean her house. I cried when she forgot my name, looked on helplessly as she started losing weight; her always-smiling face turned into a shadow of what it used to be; her lively eyes became sad and lost. She went from bathing and feeding us to having to be bathed and fed by us.

Only today, my little sister was asking me, "Why does Ma look so confused?" and after explaining to her that Ma looks confused because she doesn't remember anything, only then did my sister admit to not knowing Alzheimer's was "so bad." This is because people are just not generally aware of the signs and symptoms of the disease and just how much it affects the individual and the family.

Some signs of this disease are memory changes that affects everyday life; difficulty performing and completing everyday tasks at home or at work; confusion with time or place; misplacing things; losing the ability to retrace steps; difficulty speaking, writing and understanding; withdrawal from work and social activities among others.

If you think someone you know displays any of the aforementioned symptoms, you should research Alzheimer's disease in greater detail and urge the person to see a doctor.

My grandmother was not lucky enough to be diagnosed early enough to have adequate treatment; today, she barely talks and has immense difficulty completing basic tasks such as eating and drinking, much less any other activity that involves movement and coordination.

At a time when she was supposed to be enjoying retirement, seeing her children and grandchildren grow up and pursue their goals and live out their dreams, in her time of leisure and relaxation, her retirement from the hard life she has had to live, she is unable to do so, unable to remember anything. It's unfair and sad, but it's reality.

Today, I was feeding her when she just stopped and looked me in the eyes; I stared back at her, into those sad, lost eyes, and I felt as though she knew, at that moment, she knew who I was. I think somewhere deep inside, she does know, or at least I hope somewhere deep inside she knows and she remembers.

At this point it's all I can do, just hope, because I know that the grandma I knew is gone, her special calalloo and rice and stew chicken on a Sunday will never again be made the same way. I will never hear her tell me again that she loves me ...

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