On Failing to Listen
Old age, loneliness, and my grandmother’s dementia.
Right as I was given my menu at a pierogi place in Gdańsk, an elderly woman approached my table. The restaurant was filling up, could she be seated with me? She seemed a nice lady, my grandmother’s age, and I saw no reason to say no.
I was looking forward to a half hour of scoffing my pierogi and reading my book in peace. But it soon became clear that she wanted to talk. Repeatedly attempting to engage me in conversation, she talked about her family — her son, his children — the food at the restaurant, her life in Gdańsk.
I, ungraceful at the best of times when my reading is interrupted, gave one-word answers. I could see that she was lonely. Perhaps this chatting up of a complete stranger in a pierogi restaurant was her only way to socialize. But annoyance at being interrupted won out over being a decent human being.
I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to stop being such a selfish cow, put down the fucking book, and talk to the woman.
My grandmother’s decline started with hearing voices. She would complain of being woken up by people singing and playing music right outside her room. A couple of times she came to my bedroom in the middle of the night to wake me up and tell me they’re singing again, can you make…
