What happens when you take away the center of a person's world? The person around whom their every thought, breath, word revolves? Grandma's hold on time--minutes, hours, days, months--slowly dissolves into a layer of pale yellow post it notes reminding her "Don't eat breakfast on Wednesday, Wendy will pick you up at 9:15," "Take green pills at lunch" and the like. Her aerosol whipped cream sits tepid on the counter--worried that she will be eating spoiled food I remind her to put it in the fridge. "Oh that's right--I'll throw it away later."
We enjoyed the parade and tried to make up for 6 months of inattention by raking her astro-turf patio--she seemed to be worried about getting it done--we'll come out more often now.
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1 comment:
dang, we need to get out there more too...
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