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True to fact, with age wine only gets better; although let it sit
around too long and you've got yourself overpriced vinegar. A painful but
true analogy, my great-grandmother, my Nana, has turned sour. Over the last
few years, it has been difficult to deal with her for every member of my
family. For instance, my grandmother has no life of her own because she is so
busy spending time with Nana, who can't even name half of her great
grandchildren.
In all seriousness, I love my Nana more than any other 98 years old
in the world. She may have lost her mind, but not her character. Nana is the
only person whose vanity I admire. Not only is she partially balding, but she
still gets her hair colored and permed once a week - like anyone is really
going to think it is natural. She takes straight gin and whisky in a 70
year long backlash against prohibition and has been partying like it's 1999
for the last four decades. A woman so wise that no parent can argue her
policies, particularly her ice cream for breakfast one. Institutionalizing
her continues to be one of the most painful things my family has ever been
through.
I would have probably been happy to put my Nana in a place where she
could socialize with people her own age. But after visiting a convalescent
home this Christmas, I can't help but consider this move a loss. For
community service hours, the Outdoors Club at my school wrapped presents for
the San Francisco Community Convalescent Home. Because I mentally prepared
myself for smelly old people in diapers, I was able to handle them.
What I could not handle was my job. Each resident got a wheelchair
blanket with their name written on a patch in the left hand corner. I was
instructed to fold the blankets, wrap them up, and sign a name to the
package. I did not expect to be so affected by my own emotions as the task
itself was not difficult. We wrapped for three hours. Names like Rose
McGowen, Art Plikus, Mary Wolstencraft passed through my hands as I
wrapped the same blanket over and over again, for people I didn't even know.
Storybook names without faces and presents without care for people without
families. This arena of helplessness overwhelmed me. Droopy faces and glassy
eyes lined the hallways and the thought of my Nana with these moping corpses
was something I could not think about. My Nana can't belong in a home. I
don't care how friendly the staff is or how lovely the grounds are.
I feel like my family is simply putting her out of her misery, like
putting a dog to sleep. This Social Darwinism cannot possibly apply to
my Nana. There is no other solution. At least now she will
get more exercise, walking to the cafeteria for three meals a day. But that
is not her home, that is not the way she has lived for the last 98 years.
It feels like she is being punished for not dying like everyone else.
Mentally, yes, she may have turned sour, but not even Alzeihmers has
been able to suppress her good humor. I think maybe people should broaden
their appetite and consider sour wine to be just as fine as regular wine.
Social consciousness has broadened to appreciate all cultures and taught
people to learn from each other. So, why are we shoveling old people into
homes where they never even get to see the light? I don't have a solution
to this problem; I've just never recognized it until now.
There is no way for Nana to understand that this move is forever. I
don't think she realizes that most people expect her to die. Nana cannot
understand that her days of moving, shaking, growing and changing are over.
After everything my Nana has witnessed in her life, her trek is over.
Nana's rollercoaster is nearing the end of its run. I use this
analogy to explain her Alzheimer's. I figure, that by the end of a
rollercoaster you have been thrown, dipped, knocked, and teased. By the end
of it, you are scared shitless and aren't really sure which direction is up,
let alone whether you even enjoyed it. You are so exhausted that reality is
the last thing on your mind. After the ride, most people either puke or ride
again, or puke then ride again. For Nana, I'll assume the latter. I
understand she has been on too many rides in her life and her body is
shutting down; she will ride in her next life. I cannot believe that any
spirit could ever leave this world. Maybe I will meet her again in my next
life, and we can ride together.
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