Anna Kirkwood

In 2010, my grandmother, Johanna L. Kirkwood, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. It started out gradually; a few forgotten words here and there. What she had for breakfast might be a mystery, but she remembered, clear as day, the moment each of her 6 grandchildren were born. At the time, I was 15 and thought what a strange disease Alzheimer’s was. How could my grandmother have trouble finding the word “purse,” but easily recall the weather the day I was born?

In 2011, as the disease progressed, my parents made the decision to move my grandparents from Rochester, NY, to my hometown of Ithaca, NY. My grandfather needed more support caring for my grandmother; from grocery lists, doctor’s appointments, and daily to-dos, he was struggling to remember everything for two. Early signs of his dementia diagnosis became apparent to my parents with my grandparents’ new close proximity.

On Saturday, March 3rd, 2012, I was preparing pancakes for myself and two brothers while my parents were in Massachusetts at our other brother’s championship hockey game. My dad called with news that would change our family forever: “Anna, you need to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s right now. Grandma is missing.” I remember asking my dad to repeat himself. “Are you sure she’s not in the basement?” I asked. As the disease continued to attack my grandmother, she started to become disoriented in new environments. She often didn’t venture to the basement, and I had witnessed her struggle to locate the stairs back up, hidden behind an alcove in the room design. “No, the police are there. Go now.” Within 7 minutes, I was at my grandparents', giving a missing person’s report to the police officers who were consoling my grandfather.

“Blue eyes, very blue.”

“Hair? Blonde? But kind of white? Short. Can you put blonde and white? Just put white. But if she left the house, she’s wearing a hat.”

My grandmother was a creature of habit, and the disease hadn’t taken that away from her yet. Her winter jacket was missing from the front closet, along with her sneakers and purse. I knew she wouldn’t go out in the freezing temperatures without her long jacket (navy with a gold fleece-lined hood - a visual representation of her University of Michigan Wolverine pride), leather gloves, and her hat. 

“Height? When I hug her, the top of her head hits my ear. How tall is that? 5’4? Maybe 5’3”? What if my measurement was wrong? Why didn’t I know how tall my grandmother was?

“She’s really thin. Maybe weighs 110 pounds? My parents would know. They go to the doctor's appointments. Should I call them?”

The police asked for a photo. I said we had a family photo from a few years ago, but she looked the same. They gave me a number to fax it to, and I promised to get it to them as soon as possible.

While my parents were in fast-motion racing, home from Massachusetts, they felt paralyzed. My uncle, aunt, and cousins arrived first, after speeding the entire way from Delaware.

The police nailed down a morning timeline. My grandparents woke up at their usual time, the morning was normal, their routine nearly set in stone. Coffee and the newspaper by the fire in the living room. Morning robes on as the first week of March had continued to be some of the coldest weather Ithaca had ever seen. My grandfather began to make breakfast, a full bowl of shredded wheat with sliced banana. When he opened the fridge, there wasn’t enough milk. He said he’d run to the drugstore down the street to grab some more. I’m sure he said he loved her, and he’d be right back.

What happened next, we will never know for sure. Between the police, my grandfather’s timing, and confirmed sightings of my grandmother, my family believes that shortly after my grandfather left for milk, my grandmother couldn’t remember where he went. A brief lapse in memory. She forgot what he said, forgot that he would return home soon. She couldn’t find her husband, her caregiver, her rock, in a world that she was having trouble remembering so much of. In a panic, she set out to find my dad, her son, to say she couldn’t find my grandfather, to say he was missing.

Within minutes of finishing the description of my grandmother, a search and rescue mission was in full swing. My grandmother’s face was on every news channel in upstate New York, every radio station, reading off her missing person description. Hundreds of volunteers joined the search for my grandmother, directed by the Tompkins County Sheriff's Office. Officers, volunteers, and New York State Forest Rangers combed through hundreds of acres of woods near Cayuga Lake. An outpost was established near the airport. There were two confirmed sightings of my grandmother, not far from her home. Scent dogs were brought in. Psychics were calling in, “I see her, she’s safe. She’s watching running water along a stream. She’s not scared. She’s by a red brick house.” We were hopeful. We’d find her. We had to.

While my parents, aunt, and uncle stayed at the outpost, hoping for the phone call. My brothers were with the volunteers knocking on doors, tracking through fields, shouting for our Grandmother, looking for her, trying to bring her home. My cousin and I were designated to stay by our grandfather’s side. We sat in the living room for hours on end, watching the fire crackle. “Grandpa, do you want a glass of water? Are you hungry for lunch?” He just stared out the window, watching the freezing wind whip and the snow fall. Every hour, he’d look at his watch, “5 hours is a long time to be out in this weather all alone.” My cousin and I always nodded along in silence; we had no words. While our grandmother was missing the love of his life, and wife of 55 years was gone. The sun began to set, “10 hours is a long time to be out in this weather and in the dark all alone.” Sunset was the most important time for my grandparents. No matter what we were doing, playing, preparing dinner, setting the table, you were to be on the deck/patio/yard to watch the sunset. A closing day ritual of sorts. As the disease progressed, my grandmother never forgot her love of sunsets. Was she watching as the sun went down that evening?

Saturday night, someone came to sleep on my grandfather’s couch, allowing my cousin and me to return home. When we walked in, the counter was covered with flowers and edible arrangements. Family friends and neighbors delivered meals by the trunkload. Someone kindly started a meal train as the freezers and fridges overflowed with alumni pans and Tupperware. How long did they think it would take to find her?

Sunday morning came, and I remember waking up scared. My nightmare felt so real. My grandmother was missing, and the whole town was looking for her. It felt so real. I came downstairs to the flowers and edible arrangements, a cruel reminder I wasn’t dreaming. One new spotting was confirmed yesterday. Family and friends moved around the house. I was greeted with hugs. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? What do you need?” “No, no, I don’t know,” I replied.

Someone shared location updates for each of my family members. My brothers were with the search party, my parents were at the outpost, a collective 30 minutes of sleep between them. My aunt and uncle were with my grandfather, but would head to the outpost once my cousin and I arrived. The search party was going to re-search a few “key areas.” The winds prevented the search-and-rescue helicopter from taking off yesterday, and the clouds were too low for it to fly today. Pray for a break in the clouds, I thought. Better yet, pray for the phone call she's been found.

My cousin and I headed back to my grandparents' house. My grandfather looked exhausted. I wonder if he slept. I was too afraid to ask. The hours went by, “24 hours is a long time to be out in this weather all alone.” Someone brought sandwiches. My cousin and I nibbled on ours. My grandfather sat in his chair staring out the window. We started a puzzle, but I don’t think we finished it.

Monday, March 5th, 2012. The weekend blurred together, but my grandfather’s hour count kept going up. Monday afternoon, there was a break in the clouds and wind. The helicopter team was on standby. Once given the green light, they were airborne. Within ten minutes, they located my grandmother. She was found in a field hidden by tall foliage, 100 yards from one of my classmates’ backyards. The field accessible by a dirt road, we believe she mistook it for a road leading to my parents’ neighborhood. The field had been searched and re-searched, the scent dogs had tracked her scent nearby, but she was hidden among the foliage. Her cause of death, hypothermia.

When she was found, she was lying facing east-to-west. My family finds peace in the thought that the last thing she saw was a sunset before she drifted off to sleep.

Johanna L. Kirkwood was a proud University of Michigan graduate, a patient school teacher, a thoughtful friend, and a talented Life Master Bridge player.

Johanna L. Kirkwood was a dedicated wife, an involved mother, and my loving grandmother.

This November, I'm running in honor of my grandmother. I'm running to raise awareness for a disease that took my grandmother from our family and fundraise in hopes of preventing my family’s tragedy from becoming another family’s tragedy.