Howdie Doodie, Grandma Doodie

My great-grandmother is in her late nineties... and boy is she a trouper. She lived on her own until about six years ago. And she was sharp as a tack. When my grandparents made the decision to move her into the nursing home, it was a tough choice for everyone. No one wanted to see the strong, adorable and witty matriarch succumb to the years that were starting to haunt her. But the choice was made, and it was necessary.

And for the past six years I have watched all of my childhood memories of both her and my great-grandfather slowly become alien. All I remember of Grandma and Grandpa Doodie and fading memories. Before I entered elementary school, I spent many of my days in that apartment near the downtown of Falls City. My great-grandpa died years ago. When I think of him, I have a human version of Elmer Fudd ingrained in my memory. He always sat in the same chair and watched The Price is Right. He would buy Lays potato chips and canned peaches in bulk and then hide them under his bed so my grandma wouldn't know. But he always let me in on his little secret. My grandma always had cheese Pringles in the drawer for me and would make me baked potatoes and butter for lunch. They let me sew. I AM A TERRIBLE AND SEWING. But boy did I love it. I still pretend I can remember the faint scent of peppermint and old person that accosted me every time I entered their apartment and continued as we spent the afternoon playing Gin Rumy or Skip-Bo.

When Grandma Doodie moved into the nursing home, she complained that she didn't want to play bingo with the "old " people. She was already older than most of the people there, but it didn't show. But my memories are starting to be replaced and accompanied by bittersweet afternoons where she tells me and my mom that her sister, long dead, came to visit her earlier that day. When I come into the room she smiles politely and acts like she knows who I am. Even if she did, I don't think she would recognize me. I sit quietly, sometimes ask her how she is... but mostly I sit quietly. When we leave, my mom gets angry at me for not saying anything. But still, I never do. I don't know what to say. What do you say to someone who won't remember? What do you say to a stranger you love?

The nursing home is less than a block away from my house... it is the last place I visit when I go home, which is seldom. And when she did remember me... when I could visit often... when I thought it mattered, I didn't go either.

This week Grandma Doodie fell. She broke her shoulder and her wrist, and she cracked her pelvis. Despite her loss of memory, she never lost her sense of stubbornness. She refused to use her walker when she was in her room, and she fell. I'm not a doctor... but I don't see her coming out of this well. And I fear that I will soon be singing "Danny Boy" at another funeral with a pitiful lack of emotion. An emotion that never comes at the right time and often lingers inappropriately. I fear I will have to say Howdie Doodie for the last time.