Grandma: the later years

Shortly after Grandpa died, we realized he’d been covering for Grandma and her increasing forgetfulness.

I remember helping Grandma search for her house keys just days after Grandpa passed away. We turned the house upside down and, as the hunt lengthened without success, Grandma became increasingly agitated. “Grandpa, help me find those keys!” I implored. And, when I looked on the dining room table for the hundredth time, there were Grandma’s keys, perched atop a stack of papers.

Mark and I married 11 months after Grandpa’s death (his last wish had been to dance at our wedding), and we moved into the downstairs apartment of Grandma’s two-family house. The rent was low, and we had access to half the basement, a two-car garage, and the double-lot yard. But, more importantly, Grandma knew we were there.

Eight years later, we moved to North Carolina seeking a more affordable area to buy our own home and start our family. Grandma managed to stay in her house a few years longer, with the help of an in-home nurse during the day. Eventually, though, Mom and Aunt Annette made the difficult decision to move her to a nursing home.

Several months ago, Grandma started choking on her food. The doctors said there were two options – insert a feeding tube, or not -- and Mom and Aunt Annette decided to do the latter.

Just days before Mom told me, my eight-year-old son, R, (whose best friend had just lost his grandfather) said he wanted to meet Grandma. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen her in more than 10 years, but since she no longer recognized anyone, I reasoned she was not aware of that. Then, when Mom called, I decided to return to New Jersey sooner rather than later.

We flew up for a weekend in August and stayed with my brother, Anthony, and his family. Aunt Annette met us at the nursing home and, for the first time ever, all five of Grandma’s great-grandchildren circled her wheelchair, trying to keep her attention before she nodded off to sleep again.

Peaceful. That’s how Grandma looks. The nervous eye twitch and anxious facial expression that had slipped into place after Grandpa’s death are gone. The only indication that she has anything but happy thoughts is her tendency to jerk her clenched fist up and down, as if she is stabbing at something in her lap; that and an intermittent grinding of what’s left of her teeth that creates a friction-on-rubber sound -- the only sound she makes anymore.

Her skin is smooth and soft; her face almost devoid of wrinkles. For some unknown reason, I asked Aunt Annette’s permission to touch Grandma. She encouraged me, noting that, aside from family visits, the only human touch Grandma receives now is from strangers who care for and feed her.

It was probably my imagination, but Grandma’s clenched-fist jerk seemed to slow as I stroked her arms and hands. While my daughter, J, organized some of the other nursing home residents for bingo, I stood by Grandma’s side, caressing her blue-veined hands and remembering how she had firmly held my much smaller one when we crossed the street on a long-ago spring day.

“So, Easter is the day after tomorrow?” I asked.

“No, the day after, the day after tomorrow,” Grandma explained.

“Right, the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, today is Holy Thursday, tomorrow is Good Friday. The day after tomorrow is Holy Saturday and the day after that is Easter Sunday.”

“Oh…”

Grandma’s hands never learned to drive, but could de-bone a chicken like nobody’s business. They were strong hands that helped her become a forelady at Sherman’s sewing factory on Central Avenue in Orange, N.J., and scrubbed my face so hard I thought it would come off with the dirt. And her hands were kind as they pressed money into mine when she thought my mother wasn’t looking, and slipped our dog, Maggie, table scraps on the sly.

The good news (thanks to a barium swallow test) is Grandma doesn’t need a feeding tube; just a softer, more liquefied diet. So, her 99th birthday on Thanksgiving may not be her last.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!