One of the BEST things about living in Atlanta is that I have access to the passcode-protected wing of Arbor Terrace to visit with my Grandma and hold her hand and try to make her laugh or smile to eat or drink or notice me at all through the stupid disease that has taken her mind and is now taking her body as well. I don’t have to rely on a phone call update from a family to member to see how she’s doing.
One of the WORST things about living in Atlanta is that I have access to the passcode-protected wing of Arbor Terrace to visit with my Grandma and hold her hand and try to make her laugh or smile to eat or drink or notice me at all through the stupid disease that has taken her mind and is now taking her body as well. I don’t have to rely on a phone call update from a family to member to see how she’s doing.
A double-edged sword, really.
Sometimes a phone call update is just easier.
It’s easier than having to hear your dad on the phone with hospice discussing her refusal to eat or drink anything and the kidney failure that is clearly right around the corner.
It’s easier than having to meet the rabbi to make arrangements. ARRANGEMENTS. When you live in another country, you don’t worry about making arrangements.
It’s easier than having to be the one to help remove the sweater from your grandmother’s bony body so that she can have a flu shot. It’s easier than watching her scream out in pain when the needle enters her body.
It’s easier than spending 45 minutes holding her hand in the hopes that she will squeeze it just once.
It’s easier than being the one to celebrate her taking three bites of birthday cake. or having to help fold her laundry and see that the clothing sizes are dropping…8, 6, 4…wasting away.
AND YET.
I am thankful for the days that I can get her to smile. I am thankful for the days that I can get that little squeeze. I am thankful for the days that she looks at one of my kids and I can catch a tiny glimpse of a spark of recognition in her eye before they glass over. I am thankful for the moments of lucidity amongst the gibberish.
I am thankful for moments like these.
Because I don’t know how many more there will be.