(no subject)
I'm sure that part of it's leaving, and part of it's raging PMS, but I've been upset all day about my grandmother. She was more together mentally yesterday than she's been in a long time, but... I guess no one likes to see the giants of their childhood laid low.
My grandmother was seven feet tall. She knew everything. I loved visiting her. We wandered deep into the woods, sometimes as far as the river. I remember a sun-dappled dirt trail and dark pools. We picked through the trash heap for antique bottles (which I still have). She taught me that muscadines were good and caterpillars (the ones that eat cherry leaves) are funny to hold. We played Scrabble and Dutch Blitz and she always kept a room full of Play-doh and toys for her myriad grandchildren.
When I was in high school, I visited her for the first time in years and was shocked. My grandmother had become an old woman who was convinced that the grocery store cashiers were stealing her groceries and "the men" were putting mud into the pipes in her house. She wouldn't leave her house alone for fear those same men would sneak in and steal her hair combs.
She flatly refused to leave her home for years, and I don't blame her. Even though she can't take care of herself at home, she's much too independent to give up. She's walked out of various mental care facilities in the past. It's only now, when she can barely walk, that she's letting go. When I saw her yesterday her hands were too feeble to snap open the zippered plastic bags I keep my jewelry in.
She gave me her Scrabble board with the tiles. I didn't keep the board because it's in bad shape, but I kept the tiles. There are a mixture of red and white wooden ones, some with missing letters written on in pen. It looked like she was collecting her meager belongings to give away before she leaves for a nursing home. I think it was all she had to give me. I'd rather have those ratty old Scrabble tiles than a million dollars.
I don't know much at all about her life. Mom doesn't like to talk about her childhood. I do know that my grandfather was alcoholic and abusive. I can't remember a time when the two lived together; as far back as I can remember he lived across town at his garage. I'm sure that her life has been a hard and thankless one. Her grandchildren either avoid seeing her - her mental illness makes us all uncomfortable - or drain her of the money she freely gives away. Even I, the one she refers to as her favorite grandchild, left her alone.
She was worried that if she kept the bracelet I gave her that it would be stolen at the nursing home. That comment was what got me. She's worked so hard and been through so much, and now all she'll have is some nasty nursing home. I feel like I've abandoned her - I did, for so long - and now I'm moving and won't be able to visit her at all. We were always so close, just alike, and I abandoned her. I feel so guilty that I let her sudden (to me) mental trouble and physical infirmities scare me away.
She's been alone in that house for so many years. All she has to look forward to now is more loneliness, whether in her house or in a nursing home (if they can find one to accept her). It's the thought of being alone that way that's causing the tears streaming down my face right now. I just never let myself think about it before.
I walked away from her house with the firm intent of sending her packages when she goes to the home, but would she even accept them? Would she open them?
The next time I hear about her, it'll probably be of her death. Academically I can accept it, but emotionally... I just can't accept that that incredibly strong woman could be defeated.
Even if no one else does, I will remember. I will remember the woman you were and still are. I will remember your strength and your will and your courage. I love you.
My grandmother was seven feet tall. She knew everything. I loved visiting her. We wandered deep into the woods, sometimes as far as the river. I remember a sun-dappled dirt trail and dark pools. We picked through the trash heap for antique bottles (which I still have). She taught me that muscadines were good and caterpillars (the ones that eat cherry leaves) are funny to hold. We played Scrabble and Dutch Blitz and she always kept a room full of Play-doh and toys for her myriad grandchildren.
When I was in high school, I visited her for the first time in years and was shocked. My grandmother had become an old woman who was convinced that the grocery store cashiers were stealing her groceries and "the men" were putting mud into the pipes in her house. She wouldn't leave her house alone for fear those same men would sneak in and steal her hair combs.
She flatly refused to leave her home for years, and I don't blame her. Even though she can't take care of herself at home, she's much too independent to give up. She's walked out of various mental care facilities in the past. It's only now, when she can barely walk, that she's letting go. When I saw her yesterday her hands were too feeble to snap open the zippered plastic bags I keep my jewelry in.
She gave me her Scrabble board with the tiles. I didn't keep the board because it's in bad shape, but I kept the tiles. There are a mixture of red and white wooden ones, some with missing letters written on in pen. It looked like she was collecting her meager belongings to give away before she leaves for a nursing home. I think it was all she had to give me. I'd rather have those ratty old Scrabble tiles than a million dollars.
I don't know much at all about her life. Mom doesn't like to talk about her childhood. I do know that my grandfather was alcoholic and abusive. I can't remember a time when the two lived together; as far back as I can remember he lived across town at his garage. I'm sure that her life has been a hard and thankless one. Her grandchildren either avoid seeing her - her mental illness makes us all uncomfortable - or drain her of the money she freely gives away. Even I, the one she refers to as her favorite grandchild, left her alone.
She was worried that if she kept the bracelet I gave her that it would be stolen at the nursing home. That comment was what got me. She's worked so hard and been through so much, and now all she'll have is some nasty nursing home. I feel like I've abandoned her - I did, for so long - and now I'm moving and won't be able to visit her at all. We were always so close, just alike, and I abandoned her. I feel so guilty that I let her sudden (to me) mental trouble and physical infirmities scare me away.
She's been alone in that house for so many years. All she has to look forward to now is more loneliness, whether in her house or in a nursing home (if they can find one to accept her). It's the thought of being alone that way that's causing the tears streaming down my face right now. I just never let myself think about it before.
I walked away from her house with the firm intent of sending her packages when she goes to the home, but would she even accept them? Would she open them?
The next time I hear about her, it'll probably be of her death. Academically I can accept it, but emotionally... I just can't accept that that incredibly strong woman could be defeated.
Even if no one else does, I will remember. I will remember the woman you were and still are. I will remember your strength and your will and your courage. I love you.