Who are you? More Nursing Home Drama

04-16-2012 at 05:28 PM 

I had a most pleasant visit with my grandmother the other day. She was sitting in her room on her bed going through her personal phone book flipping through page one by one. My oldest son and I received the warm welcome we always receive. I didn’t expect anything less. We took her with her walker to the dining area where she could eat some homemade coffee cake and drink a hot cup of coffee just the way she likes it. Who ever thought getting a hot cup of coffee would be the highlight of someone’s day? It was because they never served coffee to the residents. She sat and enjoyed her coffee and cake in peace.

My son and I were only staying for a brief time only to allow my husband and my youngest son, who were waiting in the car, to pay her a visit. The idea of taking turns visiting her stemmed from the residents getting upset and nervous when our kids were there together because together they were loud and only thinking about their own happiness. This was easier. We left the wing and my husband and youngest son paid a visit except they found someone else eating her coffee cake. It was the same woman who was asking everyone around her if they had a new pair of shoes to wear over the holy socks she wore on her cold feet. My grandmother allowed her to finish the cake and didn’t say a word. I know that if my grandmother wanted the cake she would not have tolerated someone else’s fingers in her plate.

The visits were nice and quiet considering we were the only ones in the dining area with my grandmother.

Just this afternoon my mother called me. She had gone to visit my grandmother and when she got to her room she found my grandmother sitting on her chair and the little old lady who didn’t have any shoes lying on her bed. It seemed as though my grandmother didn’t mind. Regardless of who was lying where or eating what my mother expected the same joyous greeting that I always receive. She did not. “Who are you?”, she said to my mother. “It’s me, your daughter”, she replied. My grandmother was still unable to put two and two together but after a while she seemed to act as if she remembered her eldest daughter and my mother.

I know this must have been hard to hear. We knew this time would come and it may only be temporary. Next time my mother visits she may be recognized by the woman who gave birth to her. I now wonder if she will remember me the next time I visit her.

Stay tuned to find out.