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.

Guilt

Tonight I am feeling guilty. It has been a week since my last visit with my grandmother, and will be another week and a half until I get to see her again. We are leaving for San Diego in a few days for a quick get away to see two of my best friends. And I feel guilty. Rather than excited and happy to take my kids on vacation, I am feel bad about the amount of time that passes between visits.

As much as I would like to be there with her, playing Scrabble and cards and having lunch with her, I have my own family now and businesses and things that need my attention. I feel a bit like I've abandoned her, pushed her into a nursing home against her will. I think I should be there more, and I can't, and no matter how logically I approach this, I still wind up feeling terrible about it.

Life goes on. This a phrase that keeps going through my head. She had her kids, and her kids had kids, and now I have my kids. There are only so many hours in a day and for me, my kids have to be my priority now. And I know that she understands this. It just makes me sad for her. And for me.

Hoping for peace

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.

Lists

I think when I am truly happy in my life is when I feel things are in balance. When I am able to give to my family and my businesses and my friends and still find time for myself. When my house is clean and the laundry's done and all the kids' hair is washed and brushed. When I have no unreturned emails or phone calls or texts. I am not a list maker, not a pen to paper kind,  but I feel I always have this internal list of what needs to be done in any given day or week. It's something that drives Josh crazy, that I never actually write anything down. Not appointments or work schedule or lunch dates or grocery lists. Nothing. I used to make Christmas gift lists, but I think I just liked how my handwriting looked on unlined paper when I chose to write extra neatly.

The next few weeks seem extra busy, doctors appointments and dentists appointments, a trip to Beacon and a visit with my grandma, a trip to Long Island, San Diego at the end of the month and of course the everyday things that sometimes seem so overwhelming like homework and making dinner and matching up socks. And trying find time to spend at each of the restaurants.

But it's all good stuff. So who am I to complain that my life is too busy with really wonderful things? Only a fool would do that, and I'm no fool.

Allison

Missing someone who has died seems to hit me at the most unexpected of times. I was on the train this morning and glanced to my right and there was a girl, with great hair and strong eyebrows, a faint smile on her face while she listened to whatever was on the other end of her headphones. And my eyes filled with tears.

In December it will be three years since we lost our Allison. If I live everyday of the rest of my life making a concerted effort to be a good person, I will not be half as great as Allison was. Some people just have a light inside of them, a warmth that can be felt whenever they are near. She was one of those people.

She was a dancer and a dreamer, a sister and a daughter and an amazing cousin. She danced on stage and through life with a gentleness and ease about her. She had a beautiful spirit. Truly there was no one that didn't like Allison.  She was just one of those people.

Three years ago she was studying dance in Cuba. She was happy and had a boyfriend and checked in back home. We all missed her and thought she was crazy for going, but that was Allison. Determined to follow her own path in life, she went to India when she was 16. There was no stopping Al.

I had just finished working a rather difficult brunch shift on a Saturday. I stayed a little late and Josh was waiting for me in the car at the corner. When I opened the door his face looked strange and I assumed he was annoyed for having to wait. I started to explain that we'd been really busy, but he stopped me. And he told me. And I just kept repeating over and over again, I don't understand, I don't understand. She fell ill on a Wednesday and by Saturday she slipped away. That fast. And she was gone.

We talk about her often in our house. The first spring that she was gone my mom planted some fruit trees at her house and called them Allison's trees. The loss of her, so sudden and unexpected, has greatly impacted how I live my life today. Shortly after she passed we decided to have a third child. I started working less and spending more time with my family. My priorities changed. I missed her going away party and her birthday party because I was working. I just assumed I'd see her when she got back from Cuba. I've learned to not assume I will always get another day with someone I love. And I try everyday to let the people in my live know how very much I love them.