It’s Terrible to Get Old
I picked up my black slacks from the old cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I put them on slowly and carefully. Then I searched my closet for just the right blouse. It had to be dark, and classy. I sorted through them all, turning each one and not finding any I liked. Then, I decided to wear my black cotton, scooped-necked blouse. I put it on, making sure it looked nice, and turned to my jewelry box. I don’t really have anything worth anything in there, but I have pretty things. I sorted through all the silly pins, necklaces, and bracelets. I finally decided on a small, beautiful dragonfly pin, studded with colorful rhinestones. I love that pin. I put it on just below the right shoulder of my blouse. I put on some earrings and a small silver necklace too. I slowly went to the bathroom and turned on my curling iron and got out my make-up. My mom has called me at least three times already and is waiting for me, but I can’t move fast, not now. I have to make sure everything is just right. I brush my hair and curl each and every piece. I can see the grey hairs at the tip of my scalp coming through. I comb it every which way, hoping to hide them. I then apply my make-up. It has to be just right too, especially my eyebrows. Finally, smoothing on the deep red lipstick, I feel ready.
“But, I know that this is one of the only moments of power she has in her life. I also know that she revels in this power. Even if it is just to spite my mom. Well, I guess, …especially when it is just to spite my mom.”
The sun is shining bright, but the heavy wind cools everything — it brings a chill deep down inside. I think of all the homework I have to get done. I think about how my kids need to get more organized in their school work as well, and how my husband is so tired of his job. I think of how I really need to go grocery shopping. I remember how much work it is shopping with my grandma. I take her once a month to Wal-Mart. Now that they got that Super Wal-Mart it’s even more of chore. In fact, I remember that I need to take her next week. The last time I took her was pretty crazy. I don’t think I will ever forget it.
I showed up at her house a few minutes late. It was a little cold that day too. I couldn’t even get out my car and she was there at the top of the steps waiting for me. Damn that stupid driveway alarm. I can’t sneak up on her to save my life. I quickly turn my rock station over to her AM old-timey country station and switch off my engine. “Angie…is that you?” she calls.
“Yeah, Grandma it’s me. Are you ready to go?” As if I didn’t know.
“Yeah, I suppose. Let me get my keys and things. Oh, and I have to use the restroom too. Ya want some flavored water?” She called out and went back in the house, “Make sure you close that door real tight behind you. Them lizards come in if you leave it open.”
I tell you, there is nothing more terrible than those sneaky lizards; they might get you in the night. I snicker to myself as I latch the door shut. Walking in my grandma’s house is like walking into a very stuffy dark place. It takes you a few minutes to get used to the lighting to really see where you are going. She has so much stuff on the counters, and in baskets, and in piles — I don’t know how she finds anything. I looked around and sat in my usual chair. She came into the room with a very determined look on her face. Her dark hair was neatly combed with a barrette. She reluctantly keeps it cut really short now. It is too much trouble to fix it anymore. But, she always has her eyebrows painted on and her red lipstick. “You know your mom, that Robin, she went and got through all my stuff. Did you know she took and got rid of my bucket,” she said. “She thinks she’s helping me, bless her heart, but she just goes through and makes her own decisions and gets rid of my stuff.” Her voice always goes up in pitch at the end of her sentences when she’s mad. “I need that bucket!” (She would die if she knew that I know she uses that bucket when guests are in her bathroom and she can’t hold it anymore). “She didn’t need to go through and get rid of it like that. She probably threw it away. You know what else she did? She went and threw away all my umbrellas! Now what am I supposed to do if it rains?” I looked at her very concerned. I knew she needed me to. “You know what Angie, today at the Walmart’s I am going to buy a new bucket and an umbrella. And, you know what else — she got rid of my trash-can too.”
“Why’d she take your trash can Grandma?”
“Well, hell, I don’t know. I don’t know why she does half of what she does. I reckon I’ma gowinta have to get one of them trash cans too.” She pulled on her jacket and handed me her ATM card. This is a big deal for her, and here it comes: “Angie, now you put that card away. Make sure you give it back when we’re all done, now ya hear?” I forgot to give her her card back a few months ago, not that she would have been able to use it because she doesn’t know how, but it was a big ordeal. I definitely learned my lesson. So, I put the card in my purse, and followed her out the front door. She’s not even supposed to use the front door. We built a ramp on the other side of her trailer because she has fallen more than once, including down these very steps. But, to spite my mom she uses them anyway.
When we got into the car, she realized which station was on. “You know I found this station,” she says. “Ever since that neighbor moved behind me he got that big ol’ satellite dish and I can’t get that station to save my life. That there’s Johnny Cash singin’.” She really liked Johnny Cash.
“Yeah?” I replied. “I can get this station real good in my car.”
“I got my list right here. I got this other paper here too.” I looked over and it was her infamous threat letter. It was a small paper with “Do Not Take Cart!” scrawled across it. It had a sticker at the top so she could attach it to her cart. “You know one day I was there at the Walmart’s and I had my cart full and was about ready to leave and I went to grab my cart and do you know it was gone?” I smiled at her, trying to pay attention to the road. “I looked and searched all over that place. I asked all the women a workin’ there and nobody seen it. Do you know where it was? Well, I guess somebody realized it weren’t their cart, and do you know what they went and did? They put my cart back all the way at the front of the store with the other carts! They didn’t give no account at how much I was lookin’ for’t. Heck, they put it where I couldn’t even find it. Why didn’t they put it back where they found it?” She sighed. “Angie, it’s terrible getting’ old.”
“I know it Grandma. I know it.” It stayed quiet as we listened to her old-timey music for a little while.
“You know that there place on the corner, that’s where Grandpa bought that old Ford. That was a good little car.” She stared at the dealership as we turned the corner and smiled.
Well, we finally arrived at our destination, good old Walmart’s. I drove around slowly hoping to find a spot close to the front. It takes her awhile to get up to the entrance. I don’t like to embarrass her at how long it takes her to walk. She refuses to use a walker, even though she needs one. She uses the shopping cart to help her. I found a space about midway. I pulled in and as I got out of the car, I rounded to her side to let her out. It’s hard for her to get out. As she got up and out, she noticed my clothes.
“Angie, why you look real pretty.” I was wearing black jeans, shoes, and a black sweater. I don’t usually wear black; it just felt good that day. “I always liked wearing black,” she says to me, “It’s such a purdy color and it looks real nice…Grandpa always did hate me wearin’ it.”
I smiled, and helped her to the cart. She slowly put her cane in the top of the basket. Then she dug through her pockets and found her special note. She stuck the sticker right on the handle of the cart. “You know someone took my cart here one time. It took me forever to find it. People shouldn’t just go and take things.”
We slowly walked through the parking lot. I stayed in front of her cart, maybe as a sort of body-guard against the idiot parking lot drivers. Also, because as long as I move, she moves. After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the front doors. She stopped at the entrance and dug once again for her list. She always keeps this list very close. Ever since she broke her wrist years ago, her writing is so hard to read. She hates that. I don’t think she likes people to see her handwriting. She eventually finds it and grabs her pen. Then I have to guide her to the vitamin section because this new store always confuses her. “Is this the way?” she asks concerned. The old Wal-Mart had the vitamins on the other side.
“Yeah, this place is all mixed up Grandma,” I assure her. The vitamin aisle is always the best part. I sneak and look at her list as much as possible. The aisle is like a giant wall of crossword puzzles. I hate crossword puzzles. I look and see that she needs ginseng. Most of her words are spelled wrong. That drives me crazy, but I look. The funny thing is that everyone else there is asking for my help too. So, I am helping to solve this crossword puzzle for all kinds of elderly folk. I look up ways, side-ways, and all over the place. I seem to find everything for everyone but my grandma. She grabs the bottle of ginseng.
“You know in Kentucky, this stuff grows wild all over.”
“Really. Wow.” I have never really been a talker. I am embarrassed that I can’t think of anything else to say. Not to mention how hard it is to act surprised when you have heard the same story so many times.
“Yeah. When we was little we would go out and see this growing in fields. Mint too.” I like to watch her face when she talks of her younger days. Just then an old man runs into her heels. “Shoot! You need to watch where you’re goin’ Mister.” She turned around so angry.
“I am sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to hit you. I apologize,” he replied, very embarrassed.
‘Well, you should just watch where you are going!” She called out. Then she turned and looked at me, “That hurt Angie! These darn people just push everyone around. They don’t never watch where they’re going.” I felt so bad for the poor old man. It really was an accident. He was so embarrassed.
I help her find the other vitamins, way too many vitamins, on her list, and off we go to search for other house-hold items, including a bag of chips for each of my kids (which she always apologizes that she can’t do more, even though my kids think she’s a hero for this because I don’t ever buy them chips), the umbrella, the bucket, and the trash can. It is always so hard for me because I do shopping for five people every week in one fourth of the time that this takes. Everything in me wants to take her list and find everything so we can just be done. But, I know that this is one of the only moments of power she has in her life. I also know that she revels in this power. Even if it is just to spite my mom. Well, I guess, …especially when it is just to spite my mom. We get everything and head for the cashier. This makes her nervous. I don’t know why, but she always seems anxious when we get up there. I try to empty the basket, but she always does most of it. We are rung up and I punch in her code in the machine. I pull the basket slowly over to the side and wrap the receipt around her card. “Grandma, here’s your card. You wanna put it away now?”
“Oh, yes.” She digs in her pockets once more and finds her card holder. She pulls it out and takes the card from my hand. Customers behind us get a little annoyed at her taking over the aisle. I ignore them because they can just go around if they really need to hurry. They will get over it. Just then we look over and see an old priest and a nun. Strangely, the priest, if that is what he was, has long grey hair in a braid, a mustache, and a goatee. The nun, very clean and neatly dressed. “Well, did you ever see anything like that?” She asks me. Honestly, I had never seen anything like that at all…ever. I had to take a second look. The priest looked like an old biker with a Halloween costume on. It was weird, I have to admit. “What is he supposed to be?” She asked me. “I never seen anything like that in my life.”
I winced. She always had a way of speaking louder than I would have ever dreamed. I wondered if he heard her. I smiled at them, and we walked passed the strange couple. She continued to talk about their strangeness. We walked to the car and I opened the passenger door for her. She got in, and I handed her the seatbelt. Then I turned the ignition and started the air conditioner for her. She always feels like she is “smotherin.” I went around the back and put in the groceries. I laughed at her response to those people once more. Boy is she bold.
We drove and she asked me to stop at Jiminez, the Mexican restaurant she loves. She likes to buy me lunch. It is her way, once again, to maintain power over her limited situation. She has to reimburse my time and gas you know. Otherwise, to her, my taking her to the Walmart’s is just out of pity. She can’t stand for pity. I ordered her favorite, pork carnitas, with no beans. She hates beans because she had to live on beans during the depression. Then we took the order home and had lunch.
I remember that day so clearly. I remember her stories, her same stories over and over. I could probably lip them each time she would tell them. I had heard them so many times. I am almost near the hospital. I can see my mom’s truck in the parking lot. This must be the place. I make sure my makeup still looks good and wipe the tears from my eyes. As I pull up, my mom sees me. She gets out of her truck and comes over to my car.
She looks worn. There are dark circles under her eyes. She is wearing her old sweats and her long black hair is put back into a messy pony-tail. She smiles when she sees me. I don’t think she’s slept in a couple of days. She has been at my grandma’s trailer. She has been finding pictures, my grandma’s favorite slippers, her flavored water, and her chapstick. She knows that these very specific things are crucial to my grandmother’s comfort. She looks at me and how I am dressed. “You are all dressed up. How come?”
“Grandma likes it when I dress up. She likes it when I wear black. She says Grandpa never let her wear black.”
“Yeah. I remember that. She always was so pretty.” She showed me a picture of my Grandma she brought to put in her room. It was my favorite picture. My grandma, in her day, could show up Marilyn and Bette Davis. She was so beautiful. She was a lady. My mom liked to show the nurses pictures and brag of her mama’s beauty in front of her. My grandma always acted embarrassed, but deep down you could tell she liked it. We walked together to the Intensive Care Unit. I knew that today would be the last day I see my grandma.
The nurses let us both in. They must have known too, because they were so nice. I went in. There was my beautiful grandma lying in an uncomfortable, messy bed. Her face was swollen and filled with tubes. Her feet were bare and cold. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her eyes were closed. I swallowed my pain. “Mama, Angie’s here,” my mom coaxed her. “She’s here to see ya.” My mom had been there for hours.
My grandma’s eyes opened immediately. She could not possibly show any sign of weakness to me. I knew that. I grabbed her hand and smiled at her. She couldn’t talk to me, but I knew what she wanted to say:
“Angie, it’s terrible to get old.”
