So when I went upstairs to check on Grandma Great, I already knew what she had been up to. She stood there, the microwave popcorn bag in her hand still smoking, looking a little like a 2 year old who has just been caught with a baseball bat in the living room and a shattered lamp on the floor.
Are you OK I ask?
Yes, was her frustrated answer.
Can I help you?
Her shoulders slump even more, she shudders and says, "I can't even microwave popcorn any more."
It's OK, I said. How about some chips and salsa instead?
No, I'm just going to bed.
She's tired. I can hear it in her voice. I can see it in her eyes.
She's tired of living, but not really being alive. She's tired of feeling like her best days are far behind her. She's tired and we both know this is not going to end happily.
I once heard a woman say, not long after her aged father moved in, that he could stay until her house started smelling like a nursing home and then he was out of there. I remember feeling sad for him that his welcome in her home was conditional. True to her word, he was shipped off to a nursing home not long after that. (let me just say right here, I'm not judging her, I know that only she knew what she was experiencing, just like I only know what I'm experiencing. I'm quite sure she did her best and I applaud her effort. She got through her experience the best way she knew how and so will I.)
...so tonight I stood there in the smoke and smell, knowing I would have to air things out and even then the house will smell bad for a few days...
...and I remembered an experience when I was about 8 years old. My mother started noticing an odor in my bedroom that grew more rancid by the day. I came home from school one afternoon to find my closet emptied, the contents stacked here and there around my bedroom, a fresh can of paint sitting on the floor.
In an effort to find the nauseating odor, my mother had taken everything out of my closet only to find a basket of 2 week old hard boiled Easter eggs on a lower shelf behind my Barbie dolls. Since everything was out, she decided it was a good time to paint.
I don't remember being in trouble. I doubt she got angry with me about not taking care of my things. I feel quite certain it was not a convenient thing for her to have to empty my closet, paint it then put everything back, but she did, and I don't remember her complaining about it. One thing I know for sure, there was never any discussion about me having to move out, because I was less than convenient to have around.
...so someday, later, after she's gone, when I smell burned popcorn I will think of her and remember what an honor it was to have her with me, even when it wasn't pleasant.
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