I should have posted this story yesterday, but I fell asleep while typing it and I finished it this morning. So this is actually about Friday, but I am posting it today, which means whenever you read today, it means yesterday. Sorry, for the confusion. This is by the way not the only confusing part in this story. Here goes.
Just our luck: Grandma decided to pay us a visit. It’s Friday, everybody’s deadbeat, grumpy, and looking forward to the weekend and in walks Grandma. It wasn’t really her intention to visit us, though, but she ended up at our place for some reason. Maybe I should start at the beginning. Yeah, I think that might be the best thing to do.
Mum, Dad and I were at the dinner table having dessert – don’t ask me about the name of it, all I know is that there was double cream in it and that it made me happy – when the doorbell rang. Dad opens the door and we hear Grandma’s voice saying something like,’ What are you doing here?’ Which is weird thing to say when you ring a man’s doorbell and he actually opens the door himself. ‘I live here, and I have lived here for quite some time now, mother.’
Grandma walks in and says,’ Well you might as well help me while you’re here. I need a dozen free range eggs, two loaves of bread, some milk and where do you keep the toilet paper?’ Dad closes the door, follows grandma into the living room, carrying her shopping bag that she had given to him, they head straight into the kitchen where Grandma starts opening all the cupboards and drawers. Dad does his best to stop her, but it’s not really working.
After having opened all the cupboards in the kitchen, she opens the fridge, takes out our milk and cheese and eggs and carries them into the living room where she sees Mum and says,’ Be a dear and put this in my bag for me, please.’ Mum looks at her, she looks at the food on the table, picks it up and starts putting it back where it came from. That is more or less how grandma entered our house.
Grandma is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, which can be hilariously saddening at times. What she did today seemed quite hilarious to me, but Mum and Dad weren’t too pleased. Also, Grandma keeps calling me Ivor instead of Arthur. Two names that, to my opinion, don’t really sound alike. What’s even more is that Ivor is her dear departed cat. Grandma keeps the ashes of Ivor in an urn on the mantelpiece thinking it is the ashes of her late husband. Her husband, however, was buried in a cemetery a couple of blocks away from her, but she never visits it, because it reminds her of Ivor who has been buried there in secret, because they wouldn’t bury cats there.
She is not like this 24 hours a day. It’s just an early stage, so she still has her bright moments. We have to enjoy them while we still can. This is the saddening part: we know that one day she will forget who we are and maybe even who she is. Her brains are like a withering flower in a vase, you can see her brains dying a little bit each day and you try to your best to keep that flower alive, knowing it’s useless. I have to go now, we’re going to take Grandma back to her place. See me tomorrow.