So I feel like a royally bad granddaughter after yesterday's vent about my Nana. She probably doesn't remember that she called me multiple times, in a panic that I hadn't yet arrived, or that I'd get lost on the way to her room, or that I'd blow her off completely. This realization makes it a little easier and reminds me that I need to curb my impatient nature and have more empathy. And that I need to make my Kleenex/toilet paper/laundry deliveries first thing in the morning; no dillydallying until the evening, by which time she has worked herself into a frenzied state. Patience, have more patience.
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As I mentioned to Amanda this morning, it is downright lousy watching a loved one grow old although I suppose the alternative (an early death) is pretty awful too. But for so long, my Nana has been the sane and sensible one, when compared to the mental health of my 98 year-old grandfather. Watching her slip away is the hardest because I know that she doesn't have the one-on-one support system that she provided to my grandfather, albeit rather grudgingly. I tend to forget that one's health is more than the physical state of bones and organs, but also the health of a person's mind and ability to function on a rational level. Yesterday was a clear reminder of our frailty.
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When I finally got around to making my Kleenex delivery, Nana was full of smiles, cheer and gratitude. She had a fresh new 'do (or as they say nowadays: She got her hair did. [Seriously, I'm not making that up, Papa]) and she was enjoying dinner with my grandfather and a friend. Looking pink and smelling like baby powder. And it was all better.
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Of course, my grandpa on the other hand looked like a right mess after taking a spill in the park the other day. His forehead and the pavement evidently had a downright nasty conversation. But that's another story.
