it was nice of you to stop by

Grammy doesn't want me here. I guess I wouldn't want me here. At 88 years old, you have things figured out and you don't need anyone watching you. Except to prevent tylenol overdoses and the occasional fire. This is probably why as I sat in the living room chair with a clear view of the kitchen table she got up and moved to the other side, out of my sight. In 34 years, I've only seen her sit in the same kitchen chair. Guess she didn't want me looking at her. I don't tell her what to do; she eats ice cream 4 times a day and I don't even tell her to change her shoes when she puts on black leather dress loafers in 90 degree weather. You do you, gram. I wish she could see how much I care. I know she loves me and I know that when this is all over, she'll know I did everything I could. I turned on the light for you and blamed it on the bulb, I cut up your food and said it was too tough for anyone to eat, I held your hand and cursed the road for being uneven. But I text my mom every 5 minutes and vent.. "she turned off the ac", "she won't wear the clothes I picked out", "ac is off", "she won't stop pulling the cord for the ceiling light", "she's nauseous after having 3 cups of ice cream and doesn't know why", "she told me to leave", "I'm so hot", "she just ripped the cord to the ceiling light completely off", "I'm sweating."

I'm not perfect by any means. I roll my eyes when no one can see and I have to leave the room to take deep breaths often. Sometimes I cry at night. This isn't easy. It's not what I would have chosen. But this isn't easy for gram either. She never would have chosen this. And I know that she would have wanted someone by her side no matter what.

Back in the beginning of June, just as my grandmother's memory was getting progressively worse, my mother broke her leg. Her tibial plateau if you're a doctor or into bones. My mother has never broken a single bone, never had a surgery, never been admitted to a hospital. And she falls while playing in a dirt pile and ends up with two fractures in the bone that supports the knee. She had surgery the next day, where they fixated a metal plate and about 9 screws. The thing about breaking your tibial plateau, you can't put weight on it. Like not even a little. And according to my mom, it hurts. So I spent the next 4 weeks from 9am to 9pm by her side. Fun fact: Marlene and Tom eat dinner every night. And when you can't put any weight on your leg and your husband is limited to mowing the lawn and making the occasional peanut butter and jelly, somebody has to cook. Another fun fact: I can't cook. I made pasta the first night and ended up with first degree burns on my stomach. My stomach. You might think that now is the time where I tell you I found a passion for the art of cooking, but I truly hate it. I'm perfectly fine with ordering 3 meals from olive garden and eating left overs for the next 5 days. I just don't understand why anyone would spend time concocting homemade macaroni and cheese and dirtying clean pots and pans when 'easy mac' takes 3 minutes and 30 seconds in the microwave. I respect your drive, but I'm not on your level and I don't want to be.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I'm tired. And I'm not perfect. I get annoyed and frustrated and sad. With my mother unable to care for my grandparents, and me caring for my mother, we needed help. We have an amazing woman come 3 times a week to spend time with grammy and grampy, cook meals, do some grocery shopping, and just help where we couldn't. She gets it. She's wonderful and kind and it's a tremendous relief to know that you can trust someone to be there when you can't. Grammy keeps referring to her as "one of the women that comes." She's the only one. Maybe I'm "one of the other women." It wouldn't be the first time. Just kidding. Even though grammy calls her one of the women, to us she's lifted some of this heavy burden off of our backs. She has a name, too. I'll call her Beth to maintain her privacy. That's actually her real name. With grampy in rehab, I've been at their house for 12 days. Beth comes over, allowing me time to go home and shower. There's something about your own shower head and water pressure. A few days ago, after being gone for approximately 2 hours, I came back to grammy sitting in her usual kitchen chair. She chatted with me as we always do, asking how old I was and what grade I taught. After 10 minutes, she said, "Well, it was nice of you to stop by!" Awkward. She doesn't want me here, but she needs me here. She woke up today and I heard the usual clicking of the ceiling light chain. Except today, it went on a little longer than other days. I got up and she looked at me with fear and frustration, "I can't even turn a light on." I'm crushed that this disease is taking her, but I'm devastated that she knows it.

You can ask me to leave. You can tell me you can be alone. You can tell other family members that you don't need me. But I'm going to stay anyway. I'll stay because I love you and I know how much you love me. And I'll fix the light tomorrow.

xoxo

Tayla