I really need to write about my grandmother
but I don't know where to begin, and wonder if its more respectful to wait until shes gone before I begin...
so until then I am starting with this moment while I lay low and wait for my grandmother to begin her day (read: leave the house for hours of lunch dates, hair appointments and compulsion shopping) so that I may do my housework. She is currently sitting in her recliner, Univision on at an ungodly volume, cordless phone in hand while she decides what to do today and which one of her fellow widows to do it with. The house is locked up tight, it smells like breakfast, which means the kitchen is filthy again and more than likely there is at least one burner still on. (I think this is one of the reasons I clean my friends kitchens)
Her controlling nature and illness make it nearly impossible to be productive with her present. Resulting in my extreme frustration and sadness (not to mention the occasional tear) It's difficult to watch the people you love grow old and ill. I try to hang on to the memories and the gratitude, she wanted me when nobody else did so of course its my turn to care for her, right? I wonder if her telling me how stupid and fat and wrong and disappointing I am is payback for my toddler and teen years? I'm willing her to leave, its a beautiful day. The sooner she is gone the sooner I can open the curtains and the doors and begin the daily ritual of cleaning up behind her and restoring some semblance of order. It never ends and its getting worse.
When do I get to create my own chaos instead of overseeing someone else's?
so until then I am starting with this moment while I lay low and wait for my grandmother to begin her day (read: leave the house for hours of lunch dates, hair appointments and compulsion shopping) so that I may do my housework. She is currently sitting in her recliner, Univision on at an ungodly volume, cordless phone in hand while she decides what to do today and which one of her fellow widows to do it with. The house is locked up tight, it smells like breakfast, which means the kitchen is filthy again and more than likely there is at least one burner still on. (I think this is one of the reasons I clean my friends kitchens)
Her controlling nature and illness make it nearly impossible to be productive with her present. Resulting in my extreme frustration and sadness (not to mention the occasional tear) It's difficult to watch the people you love grow old and ill. I try to hang on to the memories and the gratitude, she wanted me when nobody else did so of course its my turn to care for her, right? I wonder if her telling me how stupid and fat and wrong and disappointing I am is payback for my toddler and teen years? I'm willing her to leave, its a beautiful day. The sooner she is gone the sooner I can open the curtains and the doors and begin the daily ritual of cleaning up behind her and restoring some semblance of order. It never ends and its getting worse.
When do I get to create my own chaos instead of overseeing someone else's?