grandma mon i love my grandma 040228 ... cocoon Me too. And I hate that I cant talk to her. And I havnt seen her since the summer, and I dont know when the next time I see her will be. Im kinda scared that she might die before I do. I hope that doesnt happen. I try not to think about it. 040229 ... monee she's in the hospital as of a few hours ago 041227 ... monee she's out now. 041230 ... mon uow i'm sorry i don't call you i'm sorry i don't write i'm sorry you're sick 050223 ... nom we surprised her for her 90th 060307 ... unhinged i woke up the other day and the sun broke through the clouds right after i opened my eyes and i thought of you. it is close. i will take iris to the lake and throw them in the water. i will go eat mussels. i will miss your platinum hair and your cigarettes and your hugs. i hope the deer still nibble the tulips at your grave. 090303 ... n o m rest in peace 150304 ... unhinged olga 150304 ... n o m i miss her, it's a year now 160302 ... n o m she would've been a hundred 160302 ... tender square it’s been five years today since my grandmother passed. for the last ten years of her life she lived in a nursing home while the dementia took over her body. several months after her arrival at banwell gardens, she experienced a sudden decline; no longer walking, no longer speaking, curled in bed with her eyes closed at all times of the day as if mute. we moved her into our basement when i was a sophomore in college; i’d given up my bedroom so she could have a larger space that was connected to a private living area, in the hopes that it’d feel like she still had her apartment, in a way. all i can really remember of that time was being impatient with her when she’d refuse the instant oatmeal i’d bring to her bed. mom said i had to stay and watch her eat it, but grandma was stubborn, would turn her back to me when i offered the bowl, and after a few minutes i’d leave in a huff. what was i supposed to do? once, i came downstairs and saw her standing on the landing in a white wool coat in the middle of summer. i asked where she was going and she said she didn’t know. i’m not even sure she knew who i was at that point. we thought she’d be able to live with us for a year while she moved up the city’s wait list, that way she could be transferred to a home that was close by so we could see her often. but the situation became untenable; the part-time at-home nursing help was not enough and she only lived with us for a few months. after she was moved to banwell gardens i couldn’t bring myself to visit. in the decade she was there, i think i maybe made it over five times? my mom, on the other hand, would go weekly, collecting grandma’s laundry to do back at home, even though the staff was responsible for that, because otherwise, she said, she wouldn’t have seen her either. mom needed a task to keep her committed to grandma. i am a doer like my mom is. my dad did not visit his mother after she moved into the nursing home. none of his brothers did. and i don’t say that out of judgment, but rather, out of understanding. how can we relate to our loved ones who are both there and not there? sometimes it’s easier to avoid what is too painful to face. earlier this year, my dad was diagnosed with dementia, and all i keep thinking about is the eventual decline, the long goodbye, anticipating that i will be the one to take up the mantel for my mother when time comes. that i will invent some needless task, a reason that keeps me committed to seeing him when he is cared for by strangers, because i’m not so sure she'll be strong enough to handle it herself. 210831 what's it to you? who go blather from