Today felt long and full. When I finally sat down, I felt like a machine shutting off, like a noisy washing machine spinning the clothes one last time, slowly draining the water and sitting silently, taking it all in.
My mom and I took two of the kids with us to see my grandmother this afternoon. In many ways it was a good visit: she was sitting in her wheelchair in the hallway when we got there talking with one of the other ladies, she looked genuinely very pleased to see us, she looked clean and did not seem overly tired, the kids mostly behaved. And then the not so good: when Maggie pushed her in her wheel chair and asked her where she'd like to go she said home. Maggie looked confused. She said, but Mommy said this is your home, that you live here now. My grandma agreed that she does, but that she doesn't like it. I asked my grandma if she could show Maggie the restaurant she eats in (the dining room) and she said yes and Maggie wheeled her that way and that seemed to smooth things over. We sat in the lobby a little bit, chatting with some of the other residents and their families a little before we left. I gave her a big hug and kiss when I left and told her I loved her. And I do.
I feel guilty that I can not do more. I always assumed that when she got old that she would come and live with me. We have always been very close and it just seemed logical. And then I had three kids. And she developed Alzheimer's. And everything I thought I knew about how my grandmother's last years would be spent had to be rethought. This is certainly not how I thought things would play out. I hold out hope I guess, that things don't get worse, that she finds some happiness where she is, and that she can maybe find a little peace within herself while she is still here.
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