I'm willing to share small tidbits of me. Who I am. What I experience. Why I do what I do. Just ramdom thoughts from me. Enjoy!
Who?
Name::Random me From::California, United States
I am a wife and mother of two boys. I work full-time in the electronics industry. It took me 6 years to graduate college (no, I'm not embarrassed-I finished, Dammit!) SJSU class of 1990. I love to cook, because I love good food. I'll pass on sweets, but will eat something with garlic or onion in a minute. I HATE cheese, except Mozzerella on pizza-and that has to be combination pizza. I hate chick flicks, but love a good thriller. My husband and I are real estate investors on the side. View my complete profile
My Grandmother doesn’t remember me…My Grandmother, or as I have always called her, "Erma", doesn’t know who I am. I grew up with Erma. She was always there in my life. For a while, she lived with us. I must have been between the ages of 4 and 6. I loved having her right there in our home. She referred to my brother and I as "Grandmommie’s Poompie" or just "Poompie" for short. When she wasn’t living with us, my brother and I would beg to spend the weekend at Erma’s. Now I go to visit her once and week. Every week. Sundays. I sit with her, we listen to music and she reminisces about her days long ago in Texas. I had never realized that Erma likes the Carpenters and some country music too. When I arrive, she seems so happy to see me and when I speak, I am quickly reminded that she has no idea who I am.
You see, Erma, my Erma has dementia. We noticed the first signs about the same time that my son, Lewis was born about 8 years ago. Initially, she was having episodes where she was imagining children in her apartment. On one occasion she left the kitchen sink running and it overflowed and soaked all of her carpets. We never found out the specifics why that happened. Eventually we moved Erma out of her apartment. The landlord didn’t want the liability of having an older woman falling down the stairs of her second story apartment. I was glad she was "evicted". The thought of Erma falling down those stairs gave me nightmares.
Fast forward to today, and I sit down on her bed at the Convalescent Home right next to her wheelchair and just watch her as she speaks. She seems to ramble in incomplete sentences and I hear phrases like "Ovah there by dat’ gurl", "Oh, he’s a crazy old foo’!" "Is that Safeways?" (Her apartment complex used to be behind a Safeway grocery store and she always referred to it as "Safeways") Sometimes I hear cursing and sometimes I see fear and anger in her face. She has stories to tell, but she doesn’t even know them herself. Her head can no longer make heads or tails of what’s locked in there.
The only person that Erma seems to know who they are is my mother. She asks for her by name. She’s also comforted when she hears that my mother is coming to visit. My mother is there visiting about 3-4 days a week. She takes such good care of her mother. Combs her hair, does her laundry, brings her anything she needs. Makes sure to bring flowers every now and then and brings her cards for holidays.
She is physically strong enough to walk, she simply doesn’t remember how. About two years ago, my mother was visiting Erma at the convalescent home and Erma slipped and fell. She fractured her hip and had to have surgery to put a pin in her hip bone. She was on bed rest for a few weeks and when it was time for physical therapy, her brain no longer knew how to tell her legs to how to walk.
My boys don’t like to go to the home to see her. They say it stinks there and there are a lot of old people there. They also say, their Great Grandma (I made sure they refer to Grandparents by their title) won’t remember them. I’m quick to remind them, "she may not remember you… But YOU will remember her."
Posted by Random me ::
9:46 PM ::
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