My Grandmother is 96 years old... That's old.
I went to visit her last night with my mom, at the nursing home. It's at the point where I almost expect, any day now, to get "that" call. She hasn't been well and hasn't been eating...
I am a very lucky person to have known my Grandmother; author, painter, illustrator, historian, mother, cook, seamstress, explorer, real estate agent, pioneer and the best damn cookie-baker I ever met.
My Grandmother taught me how to sew. We sewed dolls clothes for the Oro Worlds Fair. She taught me never to lift my scissors when cutting a pattern, how to clip seams, how to put in a zipper...
Yesterday was hard, the hardest time I've had with her. This woman, who always did so much, confined to a bed just about killed me.
The nursing home is a very scary place to me and I feel sorry for my Grandmother, but scared to go visit alone. The people there are all so sad. I walked past one lady who just kept saying "I want to go home, I want to go home..." What is the appropriate response ?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.