• • • • •
As I walk down the hallway of the nursing home to my grandmother’s room after school, Susan spots me. “She didn’t have a good night last night. She had an accident in bed, and if it happens again, she’ll have to start wearing Depends. At least to bed.”
“Depends?”
“Adult diapers.”
When I get to my grandma’s darkened room, I pull the blinds up. “Hi, Grandma.” She is sitting in her recliner, thumbs fidgeting with each other. “Have some light.”
“Are you here to change my bed?”
“No, Grandma. It’s me.” I point to my chest. “Charlie.”
“The sheets guy?”
I shake my head. “Your grandson.” Her bed has already been made.
“Charlie?” says Grandma. The way she says my name makes it seem like she has no idea who I am.
I reach for her clock and adjust it back two minutes. I set the clock back on the nightstand. I sit on her bed, and we stare at each other. “What do you want to do today?”
“Charlie?” my grandma says again. But it’s as if she’s a parrot echoing without any sort of emotion.
“Let’s go for a walk. It’s nice outside.” That’s one thing Dr. Book said to me last week: get her up and moving more. The nursing home staff tries, and sometimes with success, but she seems more interested in keeping the recliner warm all day. Dr. Book said she’ll deteriorate a lot quicker without exercise.
She knows what I’m talking about when I say “walk” and turns her head away from me.
“Come on, Grandma. You used to love to go for walks. I’ll go with you.”
“Charlie?”
“Yes, Grandma.” I put my hands out for her to grab hold.
“Where’s Harold?”
“Come on, take my hands.” I can’t keep answering that question, which started coming up a few months ago. I don’t like to repeatedly tell my grandma that her husband died. Why couldn’t she just remember that? Of all the things to forget. It’s like she keeps reliving the shocking news of his death every time I tell her. I don’t like continually breaking her heart.
I’m so relieved when Grandma puts her hands into mine. I’m pulling her up when I hear a click.
I turn to see Seth at the door with his camera up to his eye, aimed right at my grandma and me. “I hope you don’t mind, but that was a beautiful moment,” he says, lowering the camera.
I think I do mind, but I don’t really know why. “Are you stalking me?” I ask jokingly.
“Harold?” asks Grandma, turning to the door.
“No, Grandma. Seth,” I say.
“Charlie?”
I sigh. “I’m Charlie”. I manage to get Grandma up. I turn to Seth. “We’re going for a walk.”
“Want company?” he asks.
“If you want. But you may go crazy.”
“Too late,” says Seth. He smiles at me.
I’m holding her up, and I turn to her. “Let’s go, Grandma.” But she just stands there. Defiant.
“What can I do?” Seth asks, coming forward.
“Can you grab her walker? It’s in the corner by the window.”
Seth unfolds it and places it in front of her. She knocks it over with her free arm.
“Grandma,” I say, picking it up. “You like outside.” I look to Seth. “I think she’d prefer to sit on the recliner forever.”
“Grandmas,” says Seth.
She tips the walker over again.
“Maybe we should get her a wheelchair?” asks Seth.
“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of the walk?” I ask.
“Fresh air?”
“No, exercise.”
We finally shuffle out of the room and into the hallway. I think it’s sad how my grandma lives in the nursing home and none of the other residents even seem to acknowledge her or know who she is. Strangers under the same roof.
“A miracle!” I say when we exit the building. “We actually made it outside.”
Seth takes a picture of me holding my grandma’s arm as we walk down the sidewalk. We abandoned the idea of the walker when she wouldn’t leave it in front of her for more than twelve seconds without knocking it over.
The walk is slow going, with Grandma taking small shuffling steps along the sidewalk. Though, she seems happy or at least content to be shuffling.
“Your grandma’s awesome,” Seth says.
She doesn’t even react to us talking about her. She just keeps shuffling.
“Used to be so much more awesome,” I say. But I hate myself after saying that, as if she’s somehow worth less now.
The sun is shining brightly, but I notice clouds building to the west. “How would you describe the sky?”
Seth narrows his eyes as he looks up. “The sky?”
“Yeah, like if it’s a painting, what would you say? How would you describe it?”
“I’m a photographer. I get to describe the sky through pictures.” Seth stops walking, aims the camera up, and steadies his hand as he snaps a picture. I keep moving with Grandma. I don’t want to stop her progress now that she’s moving. Besides, I have to get ready for work soon.