I think I hear the clock ticking louder than usual lately. Perhaps it's why I am trying to make my once every two week visits turn into once a week visits. She is 85 and extremely overweight and suffering from Alzheimer's. Her mortality is very, very real to me.
I am extremely lucky to have a husband and kids that do not mind me leaving them for a night. Okay, let's be honest, they probably enjoy it. This time has been special for them, just like its been special for me and my mother. There is bonding happening and memories being made all around me, while at the same time, memories are being lost everyday. So far, when I visit, she still remembers who I am, remembers our routine of snacks and cards, and remembers that I have three kids, though the names often get jumbled.
Yesterday's visit was nice and sad, maybe sad because it was nice. She is fighting her current situation less, joining in activities more and less negative. She still complains about me putting her in there (her words, it's how she introduces me to everyone, the person that put her in there), but she moves on from her grumbling quickly. I point out how much lonelier she was before and how much safer she is now. She may not like it, but on some level, she knows I'm right.
While playing cards yesterday it hit me how much I love her, and have always loved her, and how deeply I will miss her when she's gone.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Twilight
Finding beauty in the darkness.
I usually bring her a treat, chocolate, cookies, danish. I asked my mom to pick up some red pepper and fennel when she went into the store. Crosby had fallen asleep on the drive there so I sat in the car and listened to music quietly. In the morning, before I left, I cut up the vegetables and arranged them carefully in a container with tiny squares of Parmesan cheese I'd sliced and wrapped in wax paper. This little rectangular container was meant to be a memory trigger snack for her. I had always known my grandmother to love all three of these things. I do not know that it worked to trigger any memories, but she did seem to genuinely enjoy it.
When our snack and our game of gin rummy (always gin rummy) was up, we made our way to the second floor where, according to the schedule, it was time for word games. When we got upstairs the nice young lady who runs activities informed us cheerfully that they'd be watching ice skating instead of word games. Two rows of wheel chairs, some with oxygen hanging off the back, mostly all holding women, sat and watched the pairs of young, healthy bodies float across the ice. They liked the strong, broad shouldered young men who effortlessly lifted the beautiful women with good teeth and bright red lips. My grandma remarked with each new pair, how good looking they were. Yes, I agreed, they are very attractive.
Sitting in the room on the second floor on a Sunday morning, I ignored the smells, the wrinkles, the chin hairs and bed head and food stains on their shirts. I closed my eyes and reminded myself where I was. This is their last chapter, all of them. They are not going home. And for that moment on a Sunday morning in February, I was sharing their twilight with them. And that is the beauty I could take with me and think of I as drove the forty minutes back to my mother's house that afternoon.
I usually bring her a treat, chocolate, cookies, danish. I asked my mom to pick up some red pepper and fennel when she went into the store. Crosby had fallen asleep on the drive there so I sat in the car and listened to music quietly. In the morning, before I left, I cut up the vegetables and arranged them carefully in a container with tiny squares of Parmesan cheese I'd sliced and wrapped in wax paper. This little rectangular container was meant to be a memory trigger snack for her. I had always known my grandmother to love all three of these things. I do not know that it worked to trigger any memories, but she did seem to genuinely enjoy it.
When our snack and our game of gin rummy (always gin rummy) was up, we made our way to the second floor where, according to the schedule, it was time for word games. When we got upstairs the nice young lady who runs activities informed us cheerfully that they'd be watching ice skating instead of word games. Two rows of wheel chairs, some with oxygen hanging off the back, mostly all holding women, sat and watched the pairs of young, healthy bodies float across the ice. They liked the strong, broad shouldered young men who effortlessly lifted the beautiful women with good teeth and bright red lips. My grandma remarked with each new pair, how good looking they were. Yes, I agreed, they are very attractive.
Sitting in the room on the second floor on a Sunday morning, I ignored the smells, the wrinkles, the chin hairs and bed head and food stains on their shirts. I closed my eyes and reminded myself where I was. This is their last chapter, all of them. They are not going home. And for that moment on a Sunday morning in February, I was sharing their twilight with them. And that is the beauty I could take with me and think of I as drove the forty minutes back to my mother's house that afternoon.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Maggie's Questions
On the ride up Route 9 to see my grandma yesterday morning, Maggie rattled off a series of questions I was required to answer: Is Old Grandma ever going back to her old house? Why does she need to live in a hospital? Do people see her privates? What does she have for dinner? I explained to her that Old Grandma (the name she made up when she was three) lives in a nursing home because she needs extra help with bathing and fixing her meals. This answered most of her questions, but of course, also led to more. I distracted her with a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up apple turnovers for grandma.
It was an interesting visit for me, one where I was more an observer than a participant. Maggie and my grandmother played cards and snacked on pastry and held hands. I told Maggie that my grandma was there the night I was born and Maggie looked at my grandmother for confirmation. For a second my grandma said nothing and my heart sank, that she had lost such a special memory. And then she looked at me and winked and smiled at Maggie and said 'Oh yes, I was there!'
When we left I insisted my grandma allow us to take her upstairs to the second floor where trivia was taking place. I was delighted to find out that it was a giant crossword puzzle on a dry erase board. They were close to done with their first puzzle and had a few spots they were stumped by. The woman leading the activity asked my grandma if she knew the answers, and she did! Three correct answers in a row! I was thrilled. I kissed her and whispered that I'd be back soon and tiptoed out of the room with Maggie's little hand in mine.
It was an interesting visit for me, one where I was more an observer than a participant. Maggie and my grandmother played cards and snacked on pastry and held hands. I told Maggie that my grandma was there the night I was born and Maggie looked at my grandmother for confirmation. For a second my grandma said nothing and my heart sank, that she had lost such a special memory. And then she looked at me and winked and smiled at Maggie and said 'Oh yes, I was there!'
When we left I insisted my grandma allow us to take her upstairs to the second floor where trivia was taking place. I was delighted to find out that it was a giant crossword puzzle on a dry erase board. They were close to done with their first puzzle and had a few spots they were stumped by. The woman leading the activity asked my grandma if she knew the answers, and she did! Three correct answers in a row! I was thrilled. I kissed her and whispered that I'd be back soon and tiptoed out of the room with Maggie's little hand in mine.
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