Dogs and Old Ladies

There’s a law of nature. Human nature. Spring-break human nature. This law declares the following with heavenly acuity as if it were the 11th commandment. “Thou shalt not traverse to destinations bleaker and colder than thou aleady liveth during though breaketh of spring”

Yep. Like the understated rebel I am, I disobeyed this commandment last week when I left a place that is warm, sunny and heavily palmed, and flew to Buffalo – a place that is cold, cloudy and heavily snowed. Why did I do this? My 94-year-old Grandmother, Mimi. We don’t agree on politics but we both agree life should be fully lived and laughed.

The title of this trip is: “Nursing Homes are a little like College and a lot like an IEP meeting and also a tiny bit sad.”

I arrived in Buffalo coming off a Redeye flight early Sunday morning. My dad picked me up with his golden retriever, Prince. The last time I saw the dog at Christmas he was the size of a Trumpet. Now he was a Tuba, barreling out the window of the car to lick me and love me. The thing about Golden Retrievers is, they enable you to play out your fantasy that you’re the BEST PERSON IN THE WORLD. … Then someone else walks by. And it’s clear that Golden’s think EVERYONE is the best person in the world. Ugh. Fine. A good lesson for those (…me) who lean too heavily on the idea of scarcity in the world (that there’s a limited amount of love/jobs/joy). Golden Retriever’s teach that there is plenty of everything to go around.

From the airport, we drove to Chautauqua New York where Mimi was about to spend her last night in her home before moving to the nursing facility the next day. I was nervous about how this would go. As Prince gnawed on my hand in the backseat, my dad mentioned his twin brother and older sister (both in from Florida) went to a church service and maybe he’d like to stop by. I looked down at my baggy jeans that are not real jeans but soft fabric made to look like jeans, my hoodie, and my glasses that I had to tape for the 13th time at the cracked nose bridge. “Sure!” I said, knowing that this trip wasn’t about me and if someone wanted me to come along, I was game.

We pulled into a small remodeled church building that I believe was a converted gas station because the Mobile sign was still visible under the word “CHURCH.” The pastor was a little too energetic for me. “Today’s sermon will be on Eternal Judgment,” he said. My dad turned to me and said in his blunt, casually honest way, “I’m not really in the mood to hear about eternal judgment today.” And with that, we stood up and left his two siblings to consider the possibility that we’re all going to hell while we went to eat ice cream with Mimi.

Mimi enjoys being in charge of food. After my dad’s two siblings got home, Mimi started calling shots like she was head coach of a basketball team who’d missed the championships last year and were determined to come out on top this year. With a stern joy she hollers:

“Annie, spoons!”

“Bethy, plates and turn off the stove!”

“Noel pray – oh and before that Dave get everyone enough meat!”

It crossed my mind that she could’ve given up control of meal times long ago, but she hangs onto this as if it’s the only thing left that asserts her humanness in a body that’s failing her. The meal was somber because Mimi started saying things like, “This is my last dinner in my kitchen. I don’t know what this place will be like tomorrow…? I’m a little nervous to go.”

Her three children mumbled kind words between bites of stew. I sighed and shot her a big smile. “It’ll be like we’re taking you to college!” I yelled, because she’s practically deaf. She smiled back. The reason Mimi needs to go to a care facility is that she’s too feeble for someone unskilled to care for her every day. Not only does she need help with movement, she needs help going to the bathroom, dressing, and showering.

The next morning I packed the car with her things – pictures, frames, and wall hangings and off we went. “Noel do you have some Tylenol?” she asked a few minutes into the hour drive. “No, but I can get you some?” my dad answered. “Oh that’s okay, I just need a little something to calm my nerves.” I whipped out my phone and started asking her what hymns she liked (“Faith of our Fathers” “Holy Holy Holy” and “His Eye is on the Sparrow”). I played them on youtube. It was a real show of strength as she held it together, whispering the words as she tried not to cry. After she’d listened to a few hymns she said, “Annie says I’m going to college, she’s using her imagination,” and then laughed her famous Mimi cackle. Music is powerful and magical in the way it can strengthen the spirit.

Sarah Reed is in the heart of Erie, a city without a lot of green things mid April. I had sort of bought into my analogy of college entry and was a little disappointed that there was no welcoming committee like they do for 18 year olds to keep them from thoughts of homesickness.

Getting to Mimi’s room was hard. We had to roll past other women whose minds had gone as well as their bodies. Yikes. Not the happiest welcome... The nurses met us and I immediately started hanging photos on her mirror. The social worker came in and Mimi kept asking when dinner was going to be, over and over again. Her ability to commandeer meals was all she had left and now that the preparation was taken from her, remembering the time and who was going to take her to eat was of the upmost importance. This hurt too, because we would not be joining her for dinner. She would have to be the new kid at the lunch table…where none of the other kids can really hear or speak well even if they wanted to be friendly… yeesh.

Leaving her that evening was hard. I’d brought some daffodils from her yard and left them on her night table.

Day two. We raced back over to Erie during late morning. My dad had asked that the chaplain speak with us. He was WONDERFUL. He spoke loud and clear so Mimi could hear him and he had the gift of not seeming to be on a time table. He gave her a lot of attention and love. Bless people who give their undivided attention to the elderly, the very small, and the disabled. Today we’d brought Prince. He’s kind of like a gifted child/dog. If he’s not kept busy, he finds something to do and it might be ripping up your pant leg very methodically and strategically. We’d brought him toys and he began tossing them across the room to himself when he realized that our focus was Mimi and not him. He’s hilarious. We left day two and I felt a little better. Mimi would get lots of Chaplain visits and also get to go to church services in the home! She could’ve never done these things at home where she was isolated and confined…

Day three. Eight women marched into Mimi’s room at 10am. A dietician, a head nurse, the activities director, an aide, physical therapist and lots more I can’t remember! They all had to yell so Mimi could hear. I found this funny because each woman had a different comfort level with raising her voice, so I had to turn away and fiddle with the tape on the pictures I’d put up two days ago. It hit me that this felt like an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) meeting, which we have for our students with learning disabilities in school… These women were on it. And they were awesome. They were the college welcoming committee we’d been waiting for! Mimi turned to me and said, “I thought I just got to sit here and they want me to do all these things!” They all wanted Mimi to thrive and get stronger.” Which is such a testament to hope and the belief that no matter what age and what a person’s history, they can change. She also killed the phycology test (but it’s the same at every care facility and she’d had one just like it in the winter). The woman named Shirlene asked Mimi to spell “world.” Mimi answered, “D-L-R-O-W” and I whipped my head around thinking, “Oh no! She’s lost it!,” but my dad was doubled over laughing. “Mom!” he said, “She hasn’t asked you to spell it backwards yet!” “I thought I’d just jump to the hard parts,” Mimi answered.

Today we were all headed back to our home states, leaving Mimi till summer. As we drove away, I didn’t feel so sad. If Mimi were at home, she wouldn’t have such a great IEP team! She wouldn’t have a pastor looking in on her consistently!

As Prince gnawed on my hand again on our way back to the airport, I allowed myself the joy of believing Prince loved me most and could also love everyone else most too, and that Mimi could in fact get stronger in her “dorm” nursing facility even if she wouldn’t have family around till summer. Hence the title of my trip: “Nursing Homes are a little like College and a lot like an IEP meeting and a tiny bit sad.”