a lesson in how not to be when you grow old.
she sits there on the bed and looks at her lack of a leg from the knee down. and i can't help but feel sorry for her. she's all sad eyes and sagging skin, but she can't understand our frustration. she doesn't remember that she's already asked. by the time she rings her bell for the fifth time i can't help but let out an annoyed response which leaves her silent. for a few seconds. and then she rings again.
"i'm cold.."
"here's another blanket"
*pause* "can you call your tita? she knows what to do when i'm cold."
for the next ten minutes she does this. but i don't call my tita. because it wouldn't have been any different, and she's stressed enough as it. i feel sorry for her because there are things she doesn't remember and there are things she can't do. asking the same question five times in two minutes because she doesn't remember asking it in the first place. the sad look her face gets when she has to stay in bed because nobody can help her into her wheelchair.
she's really only lonely, but nobody has the time. or the patience. and being with her only makes me sad and tired because there's nothing that i can really do.
she doesn't understand. but how can you tell someone with alzheimer's that she can't walk around because she doesn't have that leg. that there's no more diet coke and she'll have to be happy with ginger ale. that no, my parents aren't home and it's really only us in the house. this isn't my grandma. my grandma's already gone.
"i'm cold.."
"here's another blanket"
*pause* "can you call your tita? she knows what to do when i'm cold."
for the next ten minutes she does this. but i don't call my tita. because it wouldn't have been any different, and she's stressed enough as it. i feel sorry for her because there are things she doesn't remember and there are things she can't do. asking the same question five times in two minutes because she doesn't remember asking it in the first place. the sad look her face gets when she has to stay in bed because nobody can help her into her wheelchair.
she's really only lonely, but nobody has the time. or the patience. and being with her only makes me sad and tired because there's nothing that i can really do.
she doesn't understand. but how can you tell someone with alzheimer's that she can't walk around because she doesn't have that leg. that there's no more diet coke and she'll have to be happy with ginger ale. that no, my parents aren't home and it's really only us in the house. this isn't my grandma. my grandma's already gone.