Went back home to visit the family this past weekend. It was nice seeing Mom, Dad and Hampton. Saw my grandmother on Saturday, twice.
First time was ok, took some photos of her (she's getting old and I don't have any pictures of her taken by me), brought her flowers. She's in a nursing home now. It was somewhat surreal being there. Dad and I waited outside her room while some caretakers were doing something to/for her in her room. An elderly lady sat in a wheelchair with a padded foam cushion over her legs that hooked into the frame of the wheelchair near us in the hall. I wasn't sure if the cushion was actually a cushion or if it was to keep her from standing up and either a) exiting the wheelchair or b) promptly falling down. My father left for a moment while we were waiting in the hall. The lady in the wheelchair looked at me empty eyed and asked if I had a key to "unlock this thing" referring to removing the cushion I think. When I responded that I didn't, she hung her head, her eyes looking even sadder; I didn't think it would have been possible, but I was wrong.
But Grandma...
Grandma was pretty good the first time, she was happy about her flowers. I think it picked her up to have her picture taken. We chatted for a while before we had to leave. We promised to bring back a milkshake later (ok, not really a milkshake since my Grandmother is diabetic, but a Glucerna, which my father calls a "milkshake" to get my grandmother to drink it).
The second visit to the nursing home was nowhere as pleasant.
We walked in and my grandmother immediately asked my father why she was "in this prison" in the most pitiful broken voice I've heard in my life. He explained that she wasn't in a prison, that this was a place where people could do the things for her she needed. She wanted to know what she had done for her to be put in there. I have to say that I have finally reached the age where I could realize the hardship my father was going through.
Since his father died in December of 1968 he has been taking care of my Grandma... Grandma had a nervous breakdown and Dad took care of her. He was only nine when he started. A cousin of mine, who was the same age as my father and who he had went to school with once told me that by middle school my father was smoking a pack or so a day of cigarettes from the stress of taking care of my grandmother.
But back to Dad; Dad has basically spent his whole life taking care of my Grandma who, in this moment, was asking him what she had done and why he had put her in "this prison". The look in his eye conveyed the heartbreak he felt.
I patted him on the shoulder and suggested he go smoke a cigarette. I sat in there why my grandmother quizzed me. Why was she here? What had she done? Why did she have to come here? Who said she had to come here? I took the time to answer each question in turn, sometimes resulting in circular conversations until we finally arrived at the simple truth of the matter.
She is old, frail and in the last stages of her life.
Cold and calloused I suppose, but I delivered it with the utmost of charm and good nature I could muster. How easy is it to really tell someone that "this place" is the place where people can "help them" when "help them" is a euphemism for "making it comfortable while you're slowly dying"?
I did my best to explain to Grandma what was going on with her, why she was there, why she didn't remember why she was there, etc. I couldn't help myself and I told her that all of those questions, the time when she cried to my father about being there because it was a prison, killed him. She said she never meant to blame him and that she knew he was a good boy. She meant it I think.
She had finished the Glucerna, so I kissed her forehead, told her I loved her. She told me to come back soon, before she was gone. She started to cry.
I cried a little too...
Walked down the hall, past the rooms of people who were at varying points on a path and walked out into the evening sun.
Told my father I loved him, and went home.
Current Mood : contemplative
Disseminate:
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Let's just say that it was less offensive than I thought it was going to be, but it was still something I think I won't bother watching a second time. I have to say that it was funny seeing Brooke, who is by far one of the sweetest, most caring people I know, come to a realization of why that movie might not be too appealing to me. I don't hold it against her though, she's too sweet to do that.