A very wise and beautiful woman suggested today that I should write about my frustrations about Gramma. My friend was talking a new blog where I could have an orgy of relief by pounding the keys with loud swear words and snide descriptions. Sounds like heaven on a stick. I poked around for a hot minute to find a site where I wouldn't have a big learning curve. Couldn't find one, so here I am, trying not to drop the F bombs that I'd like to.
Today I recognized a Monster. While I formed the words to complain about my frustration while shopping with Gramma, a piece of my mind realized I was describing a Monster along for the shopping trip. Let me name the Monster, then maybe I can speak of it with a small letter 'm' instead of the other. Here it goes: Gramma's mortality. | Gramma happens to be dealing with a very similar monster, but it's her own death that she needs to come to grips with. "I'm not going!" is her constant refrain, complete with exclamation point. She is still making do now so that she can be comfortable when she is old. Uh, did I mention she was born in 1920? |
Gram and I went shopping yesterday for some new living room furniture worthy of her new floor. She did math out loud to figure out how old her current furniture is, came up with a number that satisfied her and justified replacing it. See, Gram still thinks she needs to justify spending her money in big chunks. She can Thrifty Shop six days a week and spend a bunch of little bits because little bits don't count.
She has said, "I want to spend my money before someone else does." She has said, "If I want to go out and buy a twenty-five thousand dollar diamond ring, I will." But when I suggested we mail family heirlooms to the out of state family, she has said, "Postage is too expensive!" She has also said, "There will be plenty of money for postage after I'm gone." And she is still saying, "I ain't going."
She has said, "I want to spend my money before someone else does." She has said, "If I want to go out and buy a twenty-five thousand dollar diamond ring, I will." But when I suggested we mail family heirlooms to the out of state family, she has said, "Postage is too expensive!" She has also said, "There will be plenty of money for postage after I'm gone." And she is still saying, "I ain't going."
Monster successfully named on my side. Power is already diminishing, yipee! Sense of humor beginning to kick in. Take day before yesterday when we were filling out forms for her new digestive doctor. We were on the family history part, where you list a relation, in this case her mother, along with the relation's mortality status. Mother, deceased, died at approximate age of seventy three. | "What was her cause of death, Gramma?" "Marion, you can't expect me to know something like that off the top of my head." |
I can not tell a lie. Yes, I did expect her to remember how her mother died. She didn't, and suddenly it was fine. Gramma's memory is going a little faster than her body. I asked her the other day if I was allowed to put on her headstone, "She did not go gentle". | Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas 1951 |
Gramma has long admired this poem. Admiration has become part of her philosophy. Go Gram!