The nurses called her “Jeanetta.”
My dad tentatively called her “mom.”
To me, she just became “grandma.”
“Hello, Jeanetta. There are some
people here who want to see you.”
The nurse said it as if it was just a routine. This was my grandma, here!

“Hi, mom.”
I could hear the hesitation in my dad’s voice.
Grandma’s eyes squinted.
“Well, hello there!”
“Do you know who I am?”
Her face scrunched up like she tasted something sour,
and the whole family fell silent, waiting for her answer.
“I’m your son…”
My dad looked at her with encouraging eyes.
“Well, I’ll be!”
She said at last.
She didn’t know us.

“And these are your grandkids, mom.”
Slowly, she slid up in her hospital bed—
examining at us.
She didn’t know us.
“I’m the one in that picture.”
I pointed to the collage my mom made for her birthday.
She grinned.
“Well, I’ll be!”
She didn’t know us.

Why should I have to introduce myself
to my own grandmother?
Why can’t she remember me?
Was I not memorable enough?
Was I not special enough?
I was just eleven!
There’s no time to be special!
Grandma! Don’t you know me?
I’m playing violin now!
Grandma, it’s your granddaughter, Stacie!
I’m doing well in school!
Grandma! Look at me!
Her eyes smiled as she looked at each family member.

“Who are you?”