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i visited with my great grandmother last weekend, and all i could think of was her mental state. she's been completely overcome by dementia, to the point where the last word she spoke to me was sometime in 1999, and i don't even remember what that word was. she was feeding herself, using a spoon instead of a fork (the sharp prongs could cause problems, my aunt said) , and it reminded me of a little kid. her posture was horrible. she couldn't sit up, she was literally hunched over that food, with her face halfway in the plate. it was so sad. to me, it was bad enough that i could only rely on the words of her children and grandchildren to get an idea of who she was -- grandmom barely spoke to anyone who wasn't her husband or one of her kids. and if she did speak, it was in an almost whisper, so i guess no one bothered talking to her since they felt it would be like conversing with themselves. i don't remember if i talked to her. it was in the middle of my own mental breakdown. nothing stands out in my mind, which is a damn shame. and now i can't talk to grandmom. she listens to me speak, and i know she hears and understands me. she laughs when i make jokes or sing songs in silly voices. when i make fun of bishop, she really likes it. he's a great big arsehole and she knows it. when he comes into her room and bothers her, she tries to front like she's sleeping, or if he touches her, she tries so very hard to move her arms. but she can't. her muscles have not been exercised. it's too late for grandmom to do physical therapy. it's too late for all that. all we can do is make her comfortable and try really hard to keep her brain sharp. i don't know if she's in pain. she's on all kinds of damn medications for this and that ... and her eyes are cloudy, as if the chemicals have filled her to an imaginary fill line like you have on your iron ... i feel so bad for her. i wish i had known. no one ever wants to have their weaknesses exposed, but ... grandpop couldn't care for her. so aunt rodell took over. bernice did nothing. pearlene did nothing. my grandfather's hands were tied -- my grandmother was getting worse every day, in and out of hospitals. no insurance. they paid out of pocket for every damn thing. and after she passed, it was like, "okay, now i have time to look after my parents." and he did what he could. ricky would go shovel for them. we sent them thanksgiving and christmas food. we'd come over very rarely, though, and i think that's what grandpop and grandmom wanted most. then grandpop got sick. really sick. even after the lymphoma, he was messed up. he kept telling ricky that he'd been sick since summer. but no one really understood until christmas 1999 when they found grandpop on the floor. he wasn't able to get up for days, from what i understand. and grandmom couldn't do anything for herself -- she'd been sitting there all that time. scared and crying. there's nothing sadder than an alzheimer's patient crying. it's a sound that comes from the most basic part of them, something that you'd imagine being in a horror film. a haunted sound. she was scared. he was unconscious. when they took him to the hospital, they said it was pneumonia, among other things. grandpop was hospitalized for a month. i went over to the house every day to sit with grandmom, while i waited for my classes to start @ CCP. thank god for the ten-week semester; there wouldn't have been anyone to watch those shady home healthcare aides. and grandmom needed the company. grandpop would call from the hospital every day and ask, "how's O? she eatin'?" and she was. finally. because my mom cooked and puréed wonderful things that grandmom liked to eat. they'd been feeding her oatmeal and instant mashed potatos for so long, because grandpop didn't know how else to feed someone who had lost almost all of her teeth. it was just a sad situation. and then those nasty meals on wheels. god help anyone who has to eat that tripe every day. there was meal upon meal upon meal in the refrigerator and the giant freezer in the basement. the food was plain nasty. i wouldn't have eaten it either. so grandmom ate and got fat. she looked healthy. happy. she was finally gonna be okay. we kept cooking for her, and when we didn't, aunt rodell had tv dinners that she'd purée. grandpop was home for a week. he died reveling in his having lived to see the year 2000, on january 31. he was just so happy to have seen all that he saw. he knew we'd take care of everything for him, the house and grandmom all that. aunt rodell is selling the house now, for $170 thousand dollars. i used to dream of living there. it'll be mine, one day.
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