Little Grandma

I do this thing. Conversations replayed in my head, over and over. Yesterday morning I was thinking of the discussion over lunch with my lab-mates about Thanksgiving plans. While fixing my hair in the mirror I blurted out, "If we visit my in-laws we travel out of town." My husband from the other room replied, "What was that honey?" My babbled reply, "Oh I am doing it again-it's nothing."

It makes me think of Casa Geroma, everyone called her Roma. She was my great grand-mother. Her nightly wanderings led to placement in a nursing home, where she lived for 15 years. Her dementia broke my grandparents heart. They were faithful caregivers, traveling daily to the nursing home, feeding her by hand, making sure she received the best care. Her random conversations were endless. Her mind lived in the past, and my child face belonged to my Great Aunt Doris who in real time had wrinkles of her own. As a child I used to weave her comments together into stories imagining who she might be talking about, what they were doing.

I wanted to take care of the residents of the nursing home. My brother and I still remember a developmentally disabled woman, "My name is Rhonda, you want some gum?" We would bring her gum, and join her on her endless walks up and down the hallways. It was there I began my medical training- simple words and gestures to ease suffering, a meaningful connection with a near stranger. Unique qualities for a cardiologist I am told, for me a gift blessed from a great grandmother who never really knew me and a family who shows love by showing up, and doing the right thing.

They are all gone now Great Grandma, my Grandparents, even Aunt Doris. I feel myself slip into helplessness, realizing these orthopedic tools of independence were first introduced to me in that nursing home. The random conversations in my head work to make sense of my trip away from the path I carefully planned. From the periphery the perspective allows me to see my connection to these loved ones.