this one hurts

she sits in her wheelchair.  her soft gray hair grazes the neck of her floral house coat.  i help her slip on her fleece bootie-style house slippers to keep her bare feet warm.  her blue and white polka dotted jammies are laid out over the corner of the rocking chair ready for her to put on after her hair is washed and set.  she has sorted the hair curlers in their plastic, pink box by size . . . so it is easier for me to find what i am looking for.

her hands grip the edge of the sink and she uses all her strength to pull herself up out of her wheelchair.  i lay my hand on the small of her back so she knows i am there - but she does the work.  she wants to.  as long as she can.  almost obediently she bends over into the sink to allow the warm water to gently rush over her head.  her thin, fine, gray hair feels soft and silky in my hands.  hair must be washed thoroughly.  twice.  by two different types of shampoo.  and completely rinsed in between each lathering.  make sure you wash it good.  but don't scrub the scalp too hard.  the skin is old and tender you know.  she never stops talking. even when her entire head is under the steady stream of water. 

again my hand is on the small of her back as she sits back down in her chair.  her legs are chilly.  i instinctively lay a small quilt over them.  she smiles up at me as she tells me about the philly cheese steak sandwich she had for supper.  she did not like it and does not understand why they took a perfectly good piece of roast beef and put that white cheese on it.  but the broccoli was cooked in delicious cheese sauce and the cookies were crunchy - not those undercooked, soft ones.  she sweetly requested the kitchen to prepare me a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup.  she got a cookie for me too. 

i begin the self-taught rolling of her hair as she prattles on reminding me not to roll it up or it will stick out on the sides. make sure to roll it down.  always roll it down.  she asks if it still looks shiny and  healthy.  of course it does.  she updates me on the medical woes of her friends like i have known them for years and care deeply who is battling what.  i am less concerned about their health and more impressed that she knows all of their names. 

i do a few chores for her around her tiny apartment and prepare to leave.  i have been with her for an hour and a half and she is getting sleepy.  i offer to help her put her jammies on and she says she will once her metamucil leaves her.  this makes me smile.  the comings and goings of her digestive track is the one constant in her life.  it is what she spends her days monitoring.  i make a mental note to keep these thoughts to myself when i am her age.  i bet i share the same details with my grandchild just like she does.

i lean over and kiss her on the forehead and then on each cheek and one on the lips too.  she smells like dove soap.  childhood memories rush in to my head and i am suddenly overcome with emotion and the tears spring to my eyes.  i am holding her tiny hand in mine and croak out the words i love you so much grandma.  she sees the tears in my eyes and she gets them too.  i tell her i am going to miss her so much when she is gone.  i tell her how lucky i am to have had the joy of spending the last several years getting to know her as a person - not just as my grandma.  i tell her she is one of my closest friends.  she tells me i am her best friend and i begin to cry again.  she tells me not to cry that she is still here and isn't going anywhere yet.  i say i know and i try to reiterate the depth of my appreciation for her and our deep friendship.

she thanks me for coming and spending my friday night with her.  no one i would rather be with.  we get through our good byes and i walk the length of the hallway and outside in to the crisp night air.  i wonder what she is thinking about.  on the way home i eat the cookie.  i remember her words to me - "the um, the uh, you know, the, the, the holy spirit!  yes, the holy spirit.  he will comfort you when i am gone".  yes i know grandma...but he is not you.