Lensbaby
I crocheted a doll and gave it to my Grandma when we visited my parents last night. Her eyes lit up and she went on and on about how cute it was and how much she liked it. I was ecstatic. I enjoy giving handmade gifts to people who will really appreciate it — and my Grandma, once a fellow crafter, totally understood the special mix of love and work that goes into a thing like that.
But an hour later, she had forgotten that I had given it to her.
And when Dad was getting her ready to go back to the home, my mother had to remind her again to take it. “What’s this?” she asked, and we told her again that I had made the doll for her. She got all excited again, “I get to keep it?!?”
So I wrote “To Grandma, Love Melissa” on a note and attached it to the doll. At first I was devastated, but then I thought that maybe each time she sees it, it will be like getting a new gift all over again.
My grandmother’s piano is now in our house. It’s a very surreal thing for me. She’s still very much alive, though not always 100% coherent. It’s odd to have her things without her permission (my mother has been given control over grandma’s estate). I understand that this is a fact of life — getting old and losing one’s autonomy, but I just try to imagine how Grandma feels in the nursing home — asking when she’ll get to go home — with no clue that all her things are gone and the house has been sold. I feel sad and want to cry for her if I think about it.
