My 94-year-old grandmother has always been a very important person in my life. As a child, I would often forgo time with friends to be with her, and she has always been one of my favorite people. Several years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The disease progressed slowly for a long time, but we’re entering a period of more rapid memory decline. I now have two young children but make a point of visiting her every month or two.
There is a certain nobility and honor attached to relatives who continue to visit loved ones even after they have lost the ability to remember the visit or, eventually, the visitors themselves. But I dread the prospect of seeing my grandma diminished in this way and cannot see the point. She is being cared for: She lives in a memory-care unit at an assisted-living facility, and my aunt is her primary caretaker. My grandfather died in hospice 10 years ago, and witnessing his final days was very traumatic for me. Yet the end of my grandma’s life is obviously not about me, and I don’t want to treat it selfishly. Am I obligated to continue to visit my grandmother even after she ceases to remember me? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
There’s a reason that Alzheimer’s disease is known as “the long goodbye”; the condition means that we lose more and more of a loved one day by day. And your tribute to your grandmother makes it clear how difficult all this has been. I had a grandmother who figured large in my life, too, and her death, when I was 24, was my first profound experience of grief.
But when you think about a future when your grandmother’s deterioration has progressed even further, you should bear in mind that it won’t arrive at any clear date. For a while, she might still take pleasure in your company, whether or not she retains a memory of it. In time, though, this level of awareness may fade as well. Whatever is noble about visiting people in those circumstances, it isn’t that you’re truly helping them. Perhaps it’s akin to tending a grave, something you do in honor of a past you shared. Yet other considerations can matter more. If your grandmother is anything like mine, your well-being will have been a priority of hers. This includes your emotional well-being; someone who needs to look after young children, certainly, must also look after herself.
A Bonus Question
We are an upper-middle-class white couple who bought a home in a gentrifying predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. We love living here except for one thing: the celebratory fireworks and occasional gunfire that typically happens near the Fourth of July and New Year’s. It is near constant in the days and weeks leading up to each holiday and goes until at least 1 a.m. Our dog is terrified, panting and shaking all night, so we often opt to camp out of town on these holidays. I want to be respectful of the culture that was here before our arrival; I also want to be able to sleep in my own home! I recognize the harm that can be done by calling the police or filing a noise complaint. We are having our first child next summer, so this question feels more urgent than ever. What, if anything, can I do? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
In situations like this one, you shouldn’t just think about what changes you want others to make; you should think about what changes you can make yourself. Bringing in the authorities could harm not only the subjects of their attention but also your own standing with your neighbors. And I wonder whether you could so easily force an end to the festivities anyway. Why not prepare a small room for your dog with soundproofing, white noise and the like? (A vet could tell you about specific methods for desensitizing dogs to loud sounds.) Protecting a nursery wouldn’t be as easy, but soundproofing curtains, panels and the right kind of windows could help.
So would establishing friendly and respectful relations with your neighbors before introducing your concerns. You may discover that you’re not the only one who has a problem with the noise and that you have undeclared allies. Just proceed with courtesy and humility. Yours is a chapter in the ancient war between sleeper and celebrant. The claimants of quiet always think they have all the right on their side, but an openness to compromise serves them best.
Readers Respond
Last week’s question was from a woman who was sexually abused by her older brother as a child. Now she is wondering whether to disclose this abuse to her brother’s adult children, which she would do via a letter that would be shared only after both she and her brother had died. She wrote: “On the one hand, it seems to me a terrible thing to tell someone’s offspring about a parent, but on the other, once we’re both dead, the knowledge dies with us. And I wonder whether it’s something I would have wanted to know about my own parent.”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “You think that your nieces and nephews might want to know about this deeply hurtful experience. Maybe they really would want to know; maybe they would be sorry they were ever told. What matters, at this point, is whether the revelation would advance their welfare. … The revelation might well play a huge and perhaps distorting role in the way your brother’s children think about him. The information would certainly be hard for them to assimilate with neither of you around to answer questions. They could only guess what your brother thought about your report; he would have no opportunity to express remorse. … You should ask yourself whether what motivates you is a yearning for justice beyond the grave, because what you’re contemplating would not deliver justice.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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As someone who was abused as a child, I understand how this sort of trauma is carried for a lifetime. And while it’s obvious that there is still hurt there, I believe the issue is between the abused and her brother. The temptation to extract justice on the brother by telling his children what an awful thing he did would only serve to hurt them, deeply. — Kathryn
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A few years after my father’s death, my mother told me that his sister had long said that he had abused her as a child. My mother explained that this was why his sister never liked our family. I was shocked. Mind you, I was 56, and my dad was dead and gone. I wondered why my mother even told me such a thing. What could be done at this late date? — Kaye
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One of the reasons both sexual abuse and its devastating psychiatric consequences continue is that people are encouraged to protect the abuser. I am a psychiatrist who has treated many abused patients; once they no longer have to carry their secret and the shame associated with it, they do better psychologically. So share the secret now; it is long overdue to be told. — Marie
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When I was about 12, my friend told me that my father tried to get her to undress. I just filed that info away. Fast-forward to a family reunion about 50 years later, when the subject of my father’s behavior was brought out in the open. He had raped his sister. He had climbed in bed with my cousin. He had abused a neighbor’s child. Each of us had a piece of the puzzle. No one had shared their knowledge, so this man continued to harm people for decades. I do not keep any secrets now. — Jo Ann
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I had a similar experience. As a result, I am not close to my nieces and nephews. I would not tell them, ever, unless there was a concern of their father reoffending. It could only destroy their emotional well-being. I understand the letter writer’s desire to be heard, believed, understood. I so understand. I wish things were different for both of us, but they are not. This is not their burden, nor should it be. — Anne