Disquiet on the Home Front or The Grandma Situation

Mom called tonight. She wanted to know my plans for tomorrow. She and Aunt #2 are looking at a care facility tomorrow for Grandma. A week or so from now, Grandma will be turning 86. She has been living in senior housing for a decade. She is lucid and in reasonable health. However, Grandma doesn't eat or drink enough. A few weeks ago, she passed out in the grocery store -because she was severely dehydrated.

The housing co-op called Aunt #2 and told her this wasn't the first time. Mom sat with her at Barnes Hospital's ER. Grandma waited 8 hours to be seen. I guess passing out when you're 85 isn't an emergency. While they were waiting, calls went out to the entire extended family; and mom tried to set up a care and visitation schedule. Nobody has decided which days they want, so mom and Aunt #2 are looking at moving her to a different facility.

They haven't asked Grandma's opinion yet. Maybe she doesn't want to move. Maybe her apartment gives her a sense of freedom. Maybe she wants to keep the possessions she has left, and doesn't want them parted out to the family... And maybe she does. I don't know, and I think she should have some say in it.

The new facility sounds great to me, but I'm not the one going there. It's right next door to a Catholic Church, so Grandma can go every day again. She is a very devout Catholic, and has missed church a lot in the past few years. She wouldn't have to cook anymore, because they provide all meals. Grandma has told me often enough how hard it is to cook for one, when she's used to cooking for 10. That's why she doesn't eat enough. Most days she can't be bothered to cook. When she gets hungry enough, she'll re-warm yesterday's leftovers. Meals-On-Wheels visits her 3 times a week. I think that's what she lives on. It's sad, and I'm dumping all my sadness here, so forgive me.

Mom tried to brighten the mood today, by telling me Great Grandma's table would probably not go with Grandma. Well, that's just great. I really do want that old Queen Anne card table. It's the only thing left to remind me of Great Grandma. I remember playing with the decorative drawer pull before I could see over the table. I remember taking out Great Grandma's canasta cards, after she passed away. I remember how no one would touch the table, much less use it, unless Great Grandma said they could. Gods, how I love that table! It's been chewed on by puppies, scratched by cats and played with by 6 grand children. and I want that table when Grandma is ready to give it to me, not when Grandma is forced to give it up. If it's the only thing left to remind me of Great Grandma, then it's also the only tangible piece of her mother. When it is passed down to me, should I pick up Grandma, help her climb into my truck and drive her to look at her mother's table? What an impossible thought! (Clearly, I haven't used up my melodrama quotient in this life)

I don't know what to say, or what to think. I want to wave a magic wand and keep things the same, and I don't even know if moving Grandma would be a bad idea!
I remember Great Grandma, living in the nursing home she once worked at. I remember how the sun lit up her hair and made it into a halo, the last time I visited her. I remember Aunt #2 telling me I would have to say something because Great Grandma couldn't see me. She was blind now. I remember the adults talking over my head as if I weren't there, talking about how death would be a mercy to her. And worst of all, I remember the looks from the other people in the home, as this huge loving family came to visit. I got in trouble for wandering off several times. We would be sitting in Great Grandma's room, and I could feel need elsewhere. Twice, mom found me in someone else's room, listening to their stories and looking at pictures of their grand children.

I don't want to have the same kinds of memories about Grandma. Life doesn't stagnate. Life moves forward, whether you want it to or not. I know age happens, and I should be thankful that Grandma is lucid and mobile. But oh, how I resist this change of scenery.