Grandmomma

I've been missing my grandmother lately. Although I've lived away from home for 15 years, I am just now starting to feel the the emptiness that being away from family can bring. I don't want to take them for granted, and yet I fear that I have.

Grandmomma isn't the same lady that I remember. She doesn't live in the same apartment or wear the same clothes. She doesn't have the same smell or say the same old things - like "love ya bushels, Wendijack!" Her new address is a skilled nursing floor at the local hospital back home. She spends her days resting in her bed or sitting up in her chair watching people go by, listening to the groans of old people further gone than she, thinking about eating sweets ( which she used to despise). Yes, she's changed. Mom says that every now and then there's a flash of the old grandmomma, then she sort of glazes over and is gone again for a while.

The old grandmomma loved fried chicken. The new one loves pizza.
The old grandmomma loved going to church. The new one is afraid to go anywhere.
The old grandmomma loved to wear makeup and have new clothes. The new one doesn't care.
The old grandmomma never sang the hymns aloud in church, though I'm sure she knew most by heart. The new one belts them out when they have church services on the "floor" as they call it.
The old grandmomma told us of every little move she made: "Barbara, I'm going to the bathroom if you try to call." The new one has to have somebody take her to the bathroom.
The old grandmomma never cursed a day in her life. The new one - well, let's just say her vocabulary is a bit more colorful now.
The old grandmomma never failed to send a dollar to me or Michelle on the occassion of the other's birthday. The new one doesn't know how old we are. Sometimes she doesn't know who my children are either.

But I truly believe that the new grandmomma has a purpose or else she'd be gone by now. Only God knows what that purpose is. This new grandmomma may be different, but she's still my grandmomma. And somewhere, deep down inside, I know she remembers holds onto the very core of what made her my Grandmomma. I loved her then, and I love her now. I wish I could tell her that in person.