Restmore

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Now I’ve been visiting my dear grandma in this place for years.
At least 3 probably 4
Although I know my way around the entire building,
Where every non resident bathroom and key is,
Which dining room is best,
And even the Morton zip code backwards and forwards to get in the building,
It barely seems like my dear dear grandma has been there a month.

I still remember her at Thanksgiving,
Most of her famous jello already eaten between my three cousins and the adults.
I remember playing Uno on their porch,
My grandpa, grandma, and I all drawing because none of us had a green or a 4.
I remember playing Disney dominos,
Sitting across from my grandma on their living room floor while my parents and grandpa watched the news.
Most of all I remember her obvious love.

Now she doesn’t say much,
A sentence per weekend visit if we’re lucky.
She can’t scratch her nose, she’s slowly forgetting how to swallow.
And although I don’t really want her to keep on living in her current state,
And I’m glad it was decided she should never have feeding tubes before my grandpa died,
I don’t want her to starve to death because she can’t swallow.

I rarely see her anymore,
I have the excuse of homework or something,
But my excuse is getting old and visiting time is running out.
And the guilt of not wanting to go because my grandpa is no longer there and his house is sold and all that’s left is the tree farm to camp on and hours of sitting in Restmore, her nursing home.

AND I HATE feeding her.
Because she used to feed me, But my dad claims she eats more when I feed her.
And we give her ice cream and soda instead of that puree mush, even though those mashed potatoes are really good…
She’s at the point my dad just wants to make most of her numbered days happy and I agree, but I also fear for the life of my last grandparent.





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