Saturday, 14 November 2009
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(Snapshots from Florida, pt I).
I wrinkle my nose as the smell of the hospital hits me. Hospitals should smell clean and fresh and like hope, but they always seem to smell like stale, imminent death. Bummer.
We’ve been here over an hour. My Grandpa is asleep in the chair by the door, and Alzheimer’s Grandma stands up next to the bed.
“What is that dog on the wall?”
Grandma and I both look high on the wall where Winnie is gesturing.
“Dog? Dog? OH... you mean clock.”
“CLOCK?” she shouts back. “NO, THAT ROUND CIRCLE. THE DOG.”
This time from Grandma: “No, Winnie. CLOCK. CLOOOOOCK.”
“OH.” She blinks once. “WHAT TIME IS IT?”
My Grandma peers at the clock for a minute. “4:40. In the morning,” she answers knowledgably.
I look at the clock. It’s 7:10 PM.It’s late at night, now. It doesn’t smell so horrid here, it smells of Florida and sunshine and love. My Grandma squeezes me into a goodnight hug and pretends to sneak by my Grandpa, shrieking with laughter when he grabs her and demands a kiss goodnight. I laugh because it’s a familiar scene, but I know at that moment I could watch it a thousand times more, if the universe would let me. Please. Please. (please).
I cook dinner each night, roasting vegetables and meat and flashing back to my childhood: standing in the kitchen, scooping too much ice cream and nuts and chocolate into a bowl for an elaborate sundae, Grandpa winking at me with promises that we won’t tell Mom and Dad.
I plan meals that have onions in them so I have a reason to cry.Winnie grabs my hands and locks eyes with me. With her words she takes me to 1932, when she was 19 and in her first year of teaching. She tells me about how she became a nun to escape a stifling Catholic marriage, and how she once snuck out of the convent to buy her students religious presents and herself a 5 cent hamburger. She was caught, and had to lie on the ground during mass for 20 minutes to prove she was sorry. Her eyes sparkle with mischievousness as she tells me she thought it was a stupid, stupid rule and she wasn’t sorry at all. And instead of praying for forgiveness, she laid on the cement plotting her next escape, planning a better route home to avoid Mother Superior.
A cloud passes over her eyes.
“WHO ARE YOU?” she suddenly asks.
“It’s Dave’s niece!” my Grandma exclaims. “Here to visit.”
“Nope, Granddaughter. His GRANDDAUGHTER” I correct.
“That’s right.” My Grandma nods and pats Winnie on the hand. “It’s Dave’s daughter, Winnie.”I drink 5 cups of coffee a day. I know my teeth will be stained when I come home, but I don’t care.
In the evenings we watch sports or the history channel, and I pretend that I never watch TV because I love hearing my Grandpa describe shows like Modern Family or The Office. Sometimes we talk about politics. Sometimes we talk about my Grandpa’s childhood. Sometimes we talk about life. We talk until I can’t keep my eyes open, until my tongue feels heavy and swollen, until my lips and teeth will no longer work together to form words.
And then we talk for 15 minutes more. Sleep can wait.I look up. My Grandpa is out in the hall now, finding out why Winnie has been refusing to take her pills. My Grandma and I slide our arms under Winnie’s frail shoulders, lifting her higher in the bed. My Grandma does this with the ease of a woman who spent years as a nurse, her body remembering what her mind no longer can. I fumble awkwardly, struggling to find the right way. Winnie begins a conversation with a woman named Ruth. When I look up to smile at Ruth, there’s no one there. I realize with a start she’s hallucinating, until I see my Grandmother nodding at me.
“Did you hear that Ruth?” she asks, looking at me.
“NO.” Like my sister as a child, Winnie only has one voice volume. “RUTH IS OVER THERE.” She points at… nothing. The wall, maybe.
I burst out with a surprised laugh, and start to wonder if I’m the crazy one.
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