by Laura Guelfi

Created on: December 10, 2008

Nursing Home. Those two words are enough to send chills up my spine. I won't even consider putting my sweet Granny in a place where she will become someone's daily employment. Granny will be eighty-nine on March 31, and although she battles numerous physical difficulties, including Parkinson's disease and blindness, she is doing great! Unbeknownst to her, she had her left leg ampuated, leaving her completely bedridden. She doesn't always recognize me now, but she lights up my world with her smile and soft touch.

When I was nine years old, my mother called a family meeting. She announced to my siblings and me that Granny Millie would be coming to live with us and that we would all need to work together to ensure that all of her needs were met. I remember thinking that she was going to change everything for us and even being a tad resentful that she was coming. All of my friends were afraid of Granny; she had a reputation for being a grouch. I didn't know this at the time, and I was far too young to have understood anyway, but Granny was battling a chemical imbalance which caused her to be bipolar. She would go through periods of extreme highs and lows, either of which was not pleasant to witness. She struggled daily with this mental illness for years without any medication or doctor's evaluation; as a result, many of her frustrations were taken out on those that she loved the most. Everything came to a very emotional head when my grandfather died, and my Granny tried to take her own life. That's when my mom realized that she just could not be alone anymore and that she should move in with us.

Very soon after our family meeting, Granny moved into our house. Things were different at first. We had to start setting the table for six people instead of five, and we couldn't go on family vacations any more because of the physical strain on her. I loved her because she was my grandmother, but I didn't try to get to know her. On my list of childish priorities, I am ashamed to say that my relationship with her was on the bottom, right there around taking a bath and brushing my teeth. Looking back on those lost years, I wish I would have taken the time to find out who she really was as a person. For as the years have passed, her mind and memory have weakened, and now I know there is no going back.

With all of her handicaps, I am sure that Granny would never have lasted more than six months in a nursing home. Every time we take her to her doctor, he shakes his head in amazement that she is still alive. She has overcome so many physical ailments, but most of all, she has survived life. The wrinkles on her face and white hairs on her head are a testament to the long life that she has endured, and as I hold her soft, withered hand in mine, I can only pray that Granny will have many more years to come. Would my life be easier if Granny were in a nursing home? Maybe a little. But I'll take Granny over Easy Street any day.

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