Two Guys Walk Into a Bar...
Ok. My aunt is still a flake. I don't who I thought I was kidding thinking otherwise. So, today she has to go the Newark for a business meeting and she has the sparky idea that it would be fun to bring my grandmother and Maricel (one of the women who cares for her) along. This would be fine - Carmen loves to go out and it's good for her to get out of the house. However she was just in the hospital on Monday with gallstones. The woman is hardy and healthier than most of us a quarter her age, however she is clearly still feeling sick. She is achy, stomach hurts and she sounds a bit hoarse. This is clearly not the best time to go on an outing, even if it is to such a lovely place as Newark. Thankfully my mother called in time to very gently and diplomatically nix the operation.
Since she got back from the hospital Carmen has been amazingly lucid. The other night my aunt and I were by her bedside chatting after I had given her her medicine and she said, "back in Argentina we don't have nice things like they do here." This floored me. It has been months since she was able to distinguish Argentina as a place apart: when she talks about going home, and that her mother is waiting for her there, she speaks as if she is somewhere nearby like a cousins or a neighbors house. But the other night she might have known exactly where she was, but she knew where she wasn't. And wasn’t the least bit perturbed. She had me cracking up too. I had asked her if she was hungry, since all she had had for dinner was some Jell-O and she says to me,
'I'm not hungry. Why would I be hungry? I haven't been doing anything. You want me to a huge belly or something?'
'Don’t worry, you won't ever get a huge belly.'
'Yes I can. See.' And she proceeds to lift her arms up under her blanket to make it look like her stomach was growing, and starts laughing.
She’s always had a good sense of humor, and I had forgotten that until just now. It’s alarming how easy it is to forget how people were before they changed – she had such an attitude and a sharp tongue, which is why we fought so much when I was younger. (No time for regrets here today). And there is so much more about her that I can’t remember. She was always there, every single day of my life, and all those days have bled together into the pattern that they were. We never talked, not the way some granddaughters do with their grandmothers. When we did talk, it was usually because we were arguing, but the tension would eventually dissipate and we would neutralize into our quietness. What we did was live side by side, she taking care of me and eventually us keeping each other company once I got old enough not to need her babysitting. Now I baby sit her, keeping a much more vigilant eye on her than she ever did on me (and she was a hawk – nothing got by her). We are still quiet with each other – I because I can’t think of things to say, and she because she is somewhere else.
Talking is overrate. Unless you re making a good joke anyways.
Since she got back from the hospital Carmen has been amazingly lucid. The other night my aunt and I were by her bedside chatting after I had given her her medicine and she said, "back in Argentina we don't have nice things like they do here." This floored me. It has been months since she was able to distinguish Argentina as a place apart: when she talks about going home, and that her mother is waiting for her there, she speaks as if she is somewhere nearby like a cousins or a neighbors house. But the other night she might have known exactly where she was, but she knew where she wasn't. And wasn’t the least bit perturbed. She had me cracking up too. I had asked her if she was hungry, since all she had had for dinner was some Jell-O and she says to me,
'I'm not hungry. Why would I be hungry? I haven't been doing anything. You want me to a huge belly or something?'
'Don’t worry, you won't ever get a huge belly.'
'Yes I can. See.' And she proceeds to lift her arms up under her blanket to make it look like her stomach was growing, and starts laughing.
She’s always had a good sense of humor, and I had forgotten that until just now. It’s alarming how easy it is to forget how people were before they changed – she had such an attitude and a sharp tongue, which is why we fought so much when I was younger. (No time for regrets here today). And there is so much more about her that I can’t remember. She was always there, every single day of my life, and all those days have bled together into the pattern that they were. We never talked, not the way some granddaughters do with their grandmothers. When we did talk, it was usually because we were arguing, but the tension would eventually dissipate and we would neutralize into our quietness. What we did was live side by side, she taking care of me and eventually us keeping each other company once I got old enough not to need her babysitting. Now I baby sit her, keeping a much more vigilant eye on her than she ever did on me (and she was a hawk – nothing got by her). We are still quiet with each other – I because I can’t think of things to say, and she because she is somewhere else.
Talking is overrate. Unless you re making a good joke anyways.
posted by beef at 9:08 AM
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