Live.Awake

Mom, Grandma is Looking for Her Clothes

// January 5th, 2007 // Humor

Remember [tag]adolescence[/tag]? That magical time when the dark forces of the human sex drive are fighting to escape the confines of everything your Momma taught you about being a good, polite boy? When your brain loses it’s ability to concentrate on what you tell it to? When the mere presence of a girl (whom you still consider gross and cootie-infected) makes you stammer and choke almost to the point of passing out?

I remember being oily and sweaty all the time. By the end of every day, I looked like I had spent several hours rubbing Bojangles chicken all over my face. Then my head suddenly began to grow like it was in a race competing against the rest of my body. My feet were determined to catch up with my head, but never quite made it.

But, the most profound change an adolescent boy goes through is that he becomes obsessed with one solitary thing: the female form. Now, understand that this is completely against his will. He still wants to spend his imaginative energies on wondering who would prevail in a battle between Spiderman and Batman. Yet, somehow his thoughts are constantly being hijacked by this oily, sweaty monster growing within him. For most men, the story of how the “mystery” was solved for them is either very tragic, or very funny. I’m still not exactly sure which category mine belongs in…

It all started when [tag]Grandma[/tag] starting taking her meals in her room because she didn’t feel up to coming out to the table any more. She had an attached apartment that afforded her some independence and privacy when she wanted it, but also allowed us to help her.

One evening, Mom called me to the kitchen and handed me a tray of food. I knew what this meant, but waited for Mom to give me the order anyway. She said, “Take this to your Grandmother, she isn’t coming out for dinner tonight.” Now, there were 3 of us brothers and not one of us enjoyed this job.

It’s not that we didn’t love our Grandmother. It’s that we understood that when you ventured onto her turf (her apartment), you were no longer in control of your exit. It was a rare occasion to go into her room and not leave with one more unpleasant memories to talk to your therapist about when you got older. It could be anything. Maybe her nightgown got stuck in the waste line of the back of her pantyhose and she needs your help getting it out. Maybe there is a cricket chirping somewhere in the room and she can’t sleep until you locate it. Ever try to do that? It’s impossible.

So of I go, food tray in hand, to Grandma’s room. The door was shut, so I knocked. I could hear her inside shuffling about getting to her walker. Then the steady creak and squeak of the walker as she slowly worked her way to the door. It took long enough that I got distracted and began staring blankly at the door stop imagining what it would be like to be Buck Rogers.

The awkward jiggle of the door knob pulled me out of my day-dream and I turned to look as the door opened. For some reason, my eyes went black. I couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t a black-out, no it was as if my eyes simply turned off. I know now that this was my brain’s desperate attempt at saving me from the trauma that awaited me behind that aluminum walker. My eyes refocused on the site before me.

There was my beloved Grandmother, without one stitch of clothing on her body. No bathrobe. No nightgown. No garment of any kind could be found. Nothing was where I thought it should be. It was like Grandma had melted. She had been turned into a Picasso painting where the forces of gravity had removed all rules of proportion and biology. Her skin hung on her body like an ill-fitting wet suit that was 2 sizes too big. Her skin had finally lost it’s fight against gravity and the results were truly frightening.

My first instinct was to look away, but I couldn’t because as she was opening the door she nearly lost her balance. I knew if she fell, not only would she be hurt, but other’s would come. They would come and see me standing there trying to help my naked Grandmother up off the floor without touching or looking at her.

I felt completely confused. My brain was screaming, “LOOK AWAY, MAN! LOOOKK AWAAAAYYYY!!! RUUUUUUNNNNN!!!” while at the same time it was screaming, “DON’T LET HER FALL! IF SHE FALLS, others will come.” This left me doing a spastic, back and forth pee-pee dance in her doorway, while still holding the food tray.

Grandma didn’t seem to even notice. She simply said, “Sam? Come on in!” Sam is my older brother. She always called me Sam, and this is one particular time when I didn’t mind her being confused. I realized, that she must not have noticed she had no clothes on. I knew that if I went any closer, she would want a hug. I assure you, that no force in heaven or earth could have made me go into that room.

I started to say, “I forgot something, I’ll be right back.” but my voice simply crackled and squeaked out a noise that sounded like a mouse that has been caught by a cat and realizes it is in for an afternoon of being the cat’s toy. That’s when I just turned, tray in hand, and walked calmly back to the kitchen where my Mom was still busily preparing dinner for the rest of the family.

I put the tray on the counter. Staring at the floor with my back to Mom, I said, “Mom, I’m not doing that anymore when her door is closed.” I walked out of the kitchen, to my room and locked the door. I don’t remember much after that. I’m pretty sure I just stared at the wall for a long long time. Eventually my old friend, Buck Rogers, returned to his rightful place in my imagination and the memory was successfully buried. Buried deep.

What do you think? Tragic or funny? I’m still not too sure…

[tags]elderly, humor, grandparents, puberty, caregiver, funny[/tags]