CHAPTER TEN
MY SHAKING GRANDMOTHER
MY SHAKING GRANDMOTHER
I didn’t understand the seriousness of Parkinson’s disease when I was diagnosed, but I knew I should fight back while I still have strength. I’m learning everything I can to help myself and others who may follow in my footsteps. It’s possible the DNA marker runs in my family. Many of my relatives have Benign Essential Tremors which looks like Parkinson’s. My grandmother, Hattie Roper Farmer, had Encephalitis or brain fever when my mother was a child and later in her life she was diagnosed with Encephalitis induced Parkinson’s.
When I was a young girl this little white-haired grandmother came to stay with us for a few weeks. She was like a frightened child herself, probably overwhelmed in our home with so many active children. She moved about our house slowly, clinging to her purse, her only security. I was curious about her but didn’t know how to talk to her. She shuffled as she walked, and her hands and arms shook so much she couldn’t dress herself. It was even hard for her to feed herself. Most of the time she just sat and watched the comings and goings in our busy home. I was too young to know what was wrong with her, but the memory of her is still with me. When I was old enough to understand my mother told me her sad story.
My grandmother, Hattie Roper Farmer, was born in 1894 in Preston, Idaho. We found this sweet picture of her in a box, in the home of my aunt. It was dated 1897.
Hattie was a brilliant young woman – graduating from the 8th grade with the highest grades in the county. She was very smart in botany, music and mathematics, winning the math competition in her entire county. In high school she was elected class president and valedictorian of her graduating class in 1914. She loved to memorize and was outstanding in elocution and public speaking. She taught Relief Society and played the piano beautifully, and played for the choir. She loved to dance and had many escorts to dances and parties, because she was very popular and had so many friends.
Shortly after her graduation from high school she was married in the Logan Temple to Roy Farmer. She was a sweet bride who supported her husband when he was called to serve a mission in the eastern states, leaving her with three small children to support. While her husband was gone for two years, she worked in the high school cafeteria to provide for her family.
When she was 28 years old she became deathly ill with Encephalitis, or brain fever. Her fever was critically high and she was out of her head for the next seventeen days. Although she recovered she was never the same. She was captive in a body that demanded sleep. The once brilliant and talented young mother and wife was gone and in her place was a quiet woman who slept and watched as her seven young children grew up.
She slept while her mother and mother in law took care of her babies. She slept as her children, four boys and three girls, came and went in their young lives without a mother to nurture or teach them. She slept while her husband worked hard raising and providing for his family. Doctors and family members advised him to take her way from her children, but he would not listen. She had been his companion and sweetheart, now she slept and watched as the world swirled around her.
My grandfather took her to many doctors and admitted her to a mental institution for evaluation, but there were no answers or explanations for her condition. There was nothing anyone could do but love her and take care of her. No amount of money could restore what was lost. Her hair turned white as snow and her hands shook so much she was unable to do the beautiful tatting and embroidery she used to do. She no longer played the piano. Her happy spirit lay dormant inside her damaged brain. Her oldest daughter quit school when she was fourteen years old and raised her younger brothers and sisters, and she lovingly cared for her mother until she passed away at the age of 67.
Hattie in her last years.
Her children wrote this for her funeral:
Her children wrote this for her funeral:
We remember first her loveliness, delicate, pure and fair,
Her soft warm cheek, round which was curled, her lovely soft white hair.
We remember too, her trials, which were hers alone to bear,
Without complaint, she bore them well, what no one else could share.
We remember well her innocence, so like a child was she,
No moral sin to mar her life, or stain her memory.
My grandmother had a form of Parkinson’s brought on by Encephalitis. Brain trauma can be a factor in Parkinson’s. It’s possible that my brain concussion and skull fracture played a part in my illness. It’s also possible there is a DNA marker for Parkinson’s in my family that was triggered by heavy metals. Mercury poisoning looks very much like Parkinson’s and I tested high in mercury, aluminum, lead and arsenic. There are more neuro-degenerative diseases now than ever before because of our toxic environment.
Years ago my grandmother, Hattie, came to me in a dream. I dreamt I was busy running around in my crazy house with lots of people coming and going and my children crying for attention. I looked at my piano and heard my grandmother saying, “Will you play for me?” I didn’t know if she meant for me to play the piano, or just be more playful. I believed that work always came before play! My life has been a sweet story compared to hers. Now I’m experiencing a small portion of her life, not as a young woman but in my older years. I feel a strong connection to her. I am also a shaking grandmother!
My grandmother is reaching through the veil to assist me in my challenges. I feel her speaking to me, “I understand what you’re going through and I will assist you in fulfilling the mission you were sent here to do. Thank you dear grandmother!
Hattie with her younger sister.
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