“Different Grams”

I have one grandparent still living. She’s my dad’s mom, and at 91 years-old, her mind is still sharp as a tack. Her body, unfortunately, isn’t doing as well. At the moment, she’s in a skilled nursing facility, recuperating from back surgery. She’s been living in an assisted care facility for a number of years. She’s anxious to get back there, but is still too weak. She can’t really do much on her own and even the simplest act--like eating lunch--exhausts her.

I went to see her today, to just sit and talk with her just because. I know my family would have loved for me to encourage her to work hard and getting well, but I was more interested in just having conversation. Two people talking, me letting her know she is loved. I don’t think it will be the last time I see her, but one never can be too sure about these things. I wasn’t going to spend my time or hers giving her a hassle. And besides, my instincts tell me that, with all the prodding she’s been getting lately, what she probably needed was just to sit and talk.

We talked about her late husband, my grandfather, dead for some time now. We talked about family, about her friends, about music. She was an avid piano player in her younger days, though her fingers haven’t been able to make the notes come out in a while. We talking about the meaning of life, why we’re here, and I listened to her wonder why she’s still here. After hearing her talk about some of her fears, I told her maybe the reason she’s still around is because she still needs to let herself be loved a little while longer.

Driving away, I found myself tearing up. I’ll miss her. She’s a sweet woman, and always has been as far as I’ve been able to tell.

I’m reminded of when my other grandmother--my mom’s mom--passed. She was taken ill with pneumonia and died less than a week later. I went with my (now ex-) wife to visit her. It was a similar kind of day, actually. We just sat and talked. I told her she didn’t look so good. She replied weakly, with a half-smile, that she didn’t feel so good either. Ultimately the family was able to bring her back home and she died in her own bedroom, surrounded by her children and grandchildren.

That story is the sad one for me. I was going through hell with my wife, and I was at the height of my active addiction. After the funeral, I collapsed on the couch after a day of running around. My wife could tell something was wrong that I was upset. She tried to get me to talk about it. I didn’t want to. I just wanted space to sit and grieve. She wouldn’t give it to me and started in on a tirade of how I needed to let my emotions out. It was one of the biggest fights we ever had and I remember it as example number one of how I could always count on her to kick me when I was down. I used to think to myself, “if only she would just give me space when I needed it,” but the truth was more like I could always count on her to NOT give me space when I needed it.

Nana’s been gone three and a half years now, and I’ve been divorced from my ex- for nearly two. Those stories don’t hold nearly as much power in my mind as they once did; they’re filed away now in the ‘sad’ cabinet, mostly because I was so loaded through the whole thing.

I’m glad that I am in a better place now, to be able to go see my grandmother when she’s not well, to just sit and talk with her, tell her about my life and listen to her about hers. Loving, strong support isn’t something my family is very good at. I’m glad to give what I can. She doesn’t need someone to harp on her or to tell her what she should do, she needs to be treated like a human being. As do we all.