Grandmother

Friends, family, countryman, country ladies,
 howdy.
I seem to have let this day grow into a goofing off kind. It's about 6 in the evening now, and I just sat down to write this.

It occurred to me, as my mother and my grandmother conversed over their tea and I sat typing next to them, how incredibly strong my grandmother is.

My mother said, "Mom, how about I give you a shower? You smell kind of ripe."
"Oh, really?" She wrinkled her eyebrows. "Okay. Well, wait until later when I can get into my nightgown. It's too early yet."
"I won't have the energy later."
"Well, Okay." She said, getting up from the table. "You wanna do it in the bathroom down here or upstairs?"

She's 94 years old. She shakes all over, has no sense of smell, and forgets everything--names, dates, conversations-- in 20 minute intervals. She's aware of all this and even more aware of how dependent it makes her. Yet she almost never loses her sense of humor about it. When my little sister Valerie talks back to her for calling her the wrong name, she laughs and teases. When she, not remembering what day it is, has to ask me, she smiles and says, "Oh, don't mind me, hon. I'm 94. My brain's gone." When I ask her how she's doing in the morning, she says "Still here!" Then, dead-eyeing me with mock gravitas, "I can't go until I find that lost sock."

When she can't bathe herself anymore, when her youngest child has to be the one to tell her she stinks, when she can't even pick when she showers, she concedes with dignity.
Granted, she has bad days too.
 I've watched her cry after wetting herself, saying to my mother, as she led her over to the bathroom, "Just take me out and shoot me, Kathy." I've heard her yell at my sisters whenever they try to tell her not to use the good tomato knife for cutting up boxes.

However, more often than not, she's still laughing and smiling. I can't help but admire her. I don't think I could be so patient with myself or the loss of control that comes with aging. In fact, I know I couldn't. I sit at home moping most days just because I don't have an office to drive to anymore. Despair engulfs me over the lack of a routine and paycheck, never mind the loss of health and autonomy.

Then again, who's to say the two aren't connected? If my grandmother still had a place to go with a group of peers to talk to and a task that kept her moving every day, maybe she would be doing better. It's so easy to feel useless when you've got nothing to do. Maybe that's why we've been bonding so much more than usual. I suppose every situation manifests some silver lining.

But I tire, friends! I'm afraid we must part. Go hug your grandparents (unless they're abusive assholes. Then go hug someone nurturing.)

Good night!

My Grandma, Mom, Dad, brothers, uncles, and two of my sisters at my grandma's 91st birthday party. You get a gold star if you can guess which one she is.

Belinda