Sometimes life hurts. But sometimes that's supposed to happen.
My grandmother fell and broke her hip a few years ago. Ever since then, she has been in a nursing home near where I live. To see my ever-industrious and independent Mam-Maw so needy and dependent on others has been hard. And humbling.
I've been hesitant to talk about my feelings about my grandmother's health with anyone besides my husband. It's just too hard. And brings up feelings from the past that I'd rather not think about. Maybe here is as good a place as any to purge.
When I was growing up, I only had one set of grandparents. My mother's father had died before I was born and her mother was fairly estranged from our family. So growing up and all through my life, I've had essentially one grandmother. My Mam-Maw, as I have always known her, has always been a sturdy and strong woman in my eyes. She has always worked hard, been very self-reliant and very head-strong. Never short on opinions either, even if they didn't always make you feel very good about yourself.
As girls, my sister and I spent a lot of time at our grandparents' mill house. They both worked 2nd shift at the mills and had done that kind of work their entire lives. I remember fondly watching my Mam-Maw get ready for work: elastic-waisted jeans, solid color t-shirt, apron with her various spinning tools, and her hair and make-up perfectly applied and turned out. I think I will always remember my Mam-Maw in her 50's.....vibrant, beautiful, full of energy and industry.
She taught my sister and I how to cook many good dishes, particularly her famous creamy mashed potatoes (the secret is evaporated milk) and how to keep house. She even taught my sister how to drive. She let us stay up late at her house on the weekends, and I never remember being punished by her for anything. She walked fast, talked fast, even drove fast!
These days, it's sometimes hard to remember that woman. Now she is frail. Quiet. Hard to understand and hard to read. This is a shock after spending my life around a woman who always made her presence known.
When my grandmother first went to live at "the home" I visited her very frequently. I didn't want her to feel lost, lonely or forgotten. I'd sit with her and watch tv, chat when she was awake, help with her meals, even wheel her out to the front sitting area to stare at the housing project across the street. I enjoyed our talks and enjoyed my quiet time with her.
Then over time, I visited less and less. You could call it life, but I'll be more honest.....it made me feel bad. It seemed like every time I saw her she brought up something from the past I'd rather forget. Why had I only had one child? Why had I gotten divorced? Did I still care about my first husband? What in the world ever happened to that boy I dated in college? All of that guilt laid down with the vision of her becoming less and less strong was too much, I suppose. It's a sorry excuse, but it's all I have.
A few days ago, my dad told me that her vitals were getting worse and that her hospice care said it could be "any time now". I decided to stop making excuses, took the afternoon off work and just went. When I got there I realized "any time now" was still a ways away, but I was glad I rushed there. I spent the entire afternoon and good bit of evening with her......just the two of us. She talked a bit, but not much. She let me help her with her lunch and dinner, changing clothes, and even more personal needs. She complimented me by telling me I was "patient" and "steady". I knew then even in that moment that it was probably the only one-on-one time I would ever have with her again while she still remembered me. I'll always be grateful for that.
Now she, and the rest of the family, are in a waiting game. Not waiting for improvement, but rather, for peace, rest and resolve. I hope it comes peacefully and with dignity for her. I've thought a lot about her dignity in these recent weeks and months. I don't want this strong woman who helped nurture and raise me to lose that. Not anymore than she already has.
I sometimes see myself in her.....her dark hair, dark brows, dark skin. And in my temperament: strong, willful, opinionated, loud. She wanted so many things for me when I was younger that I didn't want......singing in the church, to be lady-like, to be good. I did my best at some and failed at others. She made me mad sometimes because I thought I was never good enough. But at the end of the day, I believe she loved me and still does. When she remembers me.
Sometimes life hurts. But that's supposed to happen.
I'm 44 years old now. I'm not mad or resentful at anything from my childhood anymore. I recently told my mom that I think everyone has a little bit of pain from their childhood......some way worse than others. But for most of us, our childhood is better than our parents' and then our kids' are a little better than ours. I take solace in those things and am grateful. I hope my mom and grandmother can be too.
At 44, I realize how lucky I am to have had my Mam-Maw for this long. When she goes, it will almost be wrong to be sad. I'm going to choose to be grateful. And to be humble. It was another compliment she always gave me as a girl. I hope to live up to it.
My grandmother fell and broke her hip a few years ago. Ever since then, she has been in a nursing home near where I live. To see my ever-industrious and independent Mam-Maw so needy and dependent on others has been hard. And humbling.
I've been hesitant to talk about my feelings about my grandmother's health with anyone besides my husband. It's just too hard. And brings up feelings from the past that I'd rather not think about. Maybe here is as good a place as any to purge.
When I was growing up, I only had one set of grandparents. My mother's father had died before I was born and her mother was fairly estranged from our family. So growing up and all through my life, I've had essentially one grandmother. My Mam-Maw, as I have always known her, has always been a sturdy and strong woman in my eyes. She has always worked hard, been very self-reliant and very head-strong. Never short on opinions either, even if they didn't always make you feel very good about yourself.
As girls, my sister and I spent a lot of time at our grandparents' mill house. They both worked 2nd shift at the mills and had done that kind of work their entire lives. I remember fondly watching my Mam-Maw get ready for work: elastic-waisted jeans, solid color t-shirt, apron with her various spinning tools, and her hair and make-up perfectly applied and turned out. I think I will always remember my Mam-Maw in her 50's.....vibrant, beautiful, full of energy and industry.
She taught my sister and I how to cook many good dishes, particularly her famous creamy mashed potatoes (the secret is evaporated milk) and how to keep house. She even taught my sister how to drive. She let us stay up late at her house on the weekends, and I never remember being punished by her for anything. She walked fast, talked fast, even drove fast!
These days, it's sometimes hard to remember that woman. Now she is frail. Quiet. Hard to understand and hard to read. This is a shock after spending my life around a woman who always made her presence known.
When my grandmother first went to live at "the home" I visited her very frequently. I didn't want her to feel lost, lonely or forgotten. I'd sit with her and watch tv, chat when she was awake, help with her meals, even wheel her out to the front sitting area to stare at the housing project across the street. I enjoyed our talks and enjoyed my quiet time with her.
Then over time, I visited less and less. You could call it life, but I'll be more honest.....it made me feel bad. It seemed like every time I saw her she brought up something from the past I'd rather forget. Why had I only had one child? Why had I gotten divorced? Did I still care about my first husband? What in the world ever happened to that boy I dated in college? All of that guilt laid down with the vision of her becoming less and less strong was too much, I suppose. It's a sorry excuse, but it's all I have.
A few days ago, my dad told me that her vitals were getting worse and that her hospice care said it could be "any time now". I decided to stop making excuses, took the afternoon off work and just went. When I got there I realized "any time now" was still a ways away, but I was glad I rushed there. I spent the entire afternoon and good bit of evening with her......just the two of us. She talked a bit, but not much. She let me help her with her lunch and dinner, changing clothes, and even more personal needs. She complimented me by telling me I was "patient" and "steady". I knew then even in that moment that it was probably the only one-on-one time I would ever have with her again while she still remembered me. I'll always be grateful for that.
Now she, and the rest of the family, are in a waiting game. Not waiting for improvement, but rather, for peace, rest and resolve. I hope it comes peacefully and with dignity for her. I've thought a lot about her dignity in these recent weeks and months. I don't want this strong woman who helped nurture and raise me to lose that. Not anymore than she already has.
I sometimes see myself in her.....her dark hair, dark brows, dark skin. And in my temperament: strong, willful, opinionated, loud. She wanted so many things for me when I was younger that I didn't want......singing in the church, to be lady-like, to be good. I did my best at some and failed at others. She made me mad sometimes because I thought I was never good enough. But at the end of the day, I believe she loved me and still does. When she remembers me.
Sometimes life hurts. But that's supposed to happen.
I'm 44 years old now. I'm not mad or resentful at anything from my childhood anymore. I recently told my mom that I think everyone has a little bit of pain from their childhood......some way worse than others. But for most of us, our childhood is better than our parents' and then our kids' are a little better than ours. I take solace in those things and am grateful. I hope my mom and grandmother can be too.
At 44, I realize how lucky I am to have had my Mam-Maw for this long. When she goes, it will almost be wrong to be sad. I'm going to choose to be grateful. And to be humble. It was another compliment she always gave me as a girl. I hope to live up to it.