The Queen of Packing

My grandmother was an amazing packer. You'd think she was raised on a boat with a tiny bed suspended from the ceiling and a kitchen table that doubled as guest quarters. She did not. She grew up in a house in Washingtonville, New York with seven siblings. Perhaps being one of eight made her feel space was valuable. Or being raised during the Great Depression, the feeling that nothing should be wasted, not even space in a suitcase.

She taught me to roll up my socks and underwear and put them in my shoes, and the shoes went in a plastic bag, probably a clear produce bag she had saved from the grocery store. She always seemed to find extra space that I didn't imagine existed.  This was true for packing a car as well. She could neatly and efficiently pack a trunk like no one else.

The person she is today is so different than the woman she once was. I guess I keep writing about it because I still have a hard time accepting that the woman I've loved all these years is slowly dying in a nursing home tonight. I will keep writing about it, because I want to honor who she was while still loving who she is now.

All cleaned out

It's in the little actions that I feel her void the most. Things I do without thinking when my body is on auto pilot and my mind wanders to her. Washing my kids hair, doing the dishes, making an apple pie. Things my hands have done a hundred times and I imagine her doing these things in the past, washing her kids hair, making me pie, doing the dishes while my grandpa stood next to her drying each one. And then I wonder what she is doing now and the sadness creeps in.

Her apartment is now cleaned out. Completely empty, like it looked a year ago when I moved her in there. All of her furniture has been given away. Her bedroom set I've known my whole life was broken up, night tables to one person, bed frame and dressers to another. Not the way she would have wanted it, but the way it had to be. I requested her cedar trunk and her wooden step stool for the beach house. I don't need these items, but I need to have a tangible object that was hers for when she is gone.

I was concerned about how she would feel about staying in the nursing home for Thanksgiving, but it seems my concerns were unnecessary. She hasn't mentioned it. I haven't seen her in over two weeks because I've been sick, but my mom keeps me posted on her daily moods and how she's feeling. She seems to vacillate between cranky, tired, disinterested, childlike and sad. I will be up to see her next weekend and I'm looking forward to it. I'm acutely aware that each time I go could be the last time she recognizes me, so I'm going to try and make the most out of each visit.

We didn't vote on that

I looked around at all of the people on the train this afternoon and found it hard to imagine that all of these people were once someone's baby. All of these people kept someone up all night and cut teeth and took a first uncertain step with someone who loved them standing by to cheer them on.

It reminds me of how I was feeling yesterday when I visited my grandmother in the nursing home. I looked around at the mostly women in the diningroom and imagined that they were all once like me. They fell in love and got married. Their bodies made babies and raised children. They had jobs and dreams and disappointments. And now these bodies, that have been theirs since the day they were born, have failed them. They are almost all wheel chair bound. Their hands and spines have begun to bend into c curves, reminding me of fragile birds.

I was joining my grandmother and her two table mates for dinner last night. Jackie and Eileen were their names. Jackie has a deep sadness about her, despite the fact that she is leaving the nursing home in a few days. She believes in keeping her mind busy so she joins in on many of the activities, although she does not enjoy them. Eileen is a hoot. Alzheimer's has taken her memory, but not her sense of humor. When I was teasing my grandmother about something, she told me I didn't need to eat with them again. Eileen looked up from her soup and shouted , 'We didn't vote on that! She stays!'. Jackie agreed. My grandmother looked across the table at me with a little grin. It made her happy that the other ladies liked me.

It was really a nice visit, but I found myself fighting back tears as I wheeled her back to her room. My visits at once every two weeks, are too seldom. I keep trying to carve out more time for her and work and kids and the rest of my life just keeps getting in the way. I am trying to get to know the 'new' her. And enjoy the time I have left with her.