I just got back from an exhausting trip to Chicago where I spent the majority of my time packing up my grandparents’ house. Lucky for me, my grandma is a hoarder and enjoys collecting the most random objects. She also freaks out with the prospect of getting rid of her possessions, so it wasn’t until now that we were able to get in there and haul out.
For a few months now, my grandma has been in a nursing home for Alzheimer’s. While in the recent visits she’s been skeptical about whether she knows me or not, I want to make sure I never forget her quirks; the quirks I can always look back on and laugh, because if I’m sure of one thing, I don’t want to look at the past ten years in a negative light.
Grandma always had a fascination with Native Americans because her great-grandmother was a Cherokee Indian princess, (or so I’ve been told for the past 20 years). When she first met my boyfriend, Ryan, the first thing out of her mouth was, “You must have Indian blood in you!” I guess Ryan has a certain high-cheek-boned, dark-complexioned look to him. Of course Ryan went along with it (his great-great-grandfather was a chief…) and Grandma instantly fell in love with him.
Over the past few years, Gma’s Alzheimer’s has continued to get worse. There were times we would ask about her great-grandmother, the Indian princess, and she would look at us like we had 7 eyes.
Gma: “What are you talking about? My Indian blood comes from my great-grandfather, who was a chief of a tribe.” (No grandma, that’s Ryan’s great-great-grandfather… I kid, I kid!)
There has always been one story my grandma has told everyone she has ever passed on the street, been introduced to, checked out with at the grocery store…you get the point. I’ll call this the “Frederick” story.
Grandma: “I have a thing for Fredericks. You see my maiden name was Frederick and then I married a man whose middle name was Frederick. Now my current husband’s first name is Frederick. So you see, I was a Frederick and then I married two Frederick, which equals three Fredericks. I have a thing for Fredericks because there were plenty of Fredericks in my life. I must attract Fredericks. I have a thing for Fredericks.”
My dad has heard that story more than 40 times in his life.
Hoarding isn’t a funny thing; however sometimes all you can do is laugh about the situation. While cleaning out my grandparents’ house I couldn’t help but do just that. I found enough straws that my grandma had taken to build a house for one of the three little pigs.
As for twisty ties and napkins, she had you covered. She must have never thrown either things away in 50 years. When we were cleaning up we sometimes found a need for a twisty tie. You could just glance down at the floor and always come up with a few. (Thanks Grandma for thinking ahead!)
Other hoarding habits were a little less helpful. My grandma had a deep love for paper plates. So much so that she refused to throw them away. All she would do is wash them and stick them in a rack to dry. Dirty, paper plates are reusable. Who would have known? This always posed a problem when we would go over there for dinner. Requesting to not use paper plates often became awkward.
I hope I can always laugh at her old, quirky habits. Although they were obvious signs of Alzheimer’s, and to put it boldly Alzheimer’s is shitty, it’s still part of who she is. She may not remember who I am all the time or the fact she claimed for 20 years her great-grandmother was a Cherokee princess, but I can always make her happy with a bit of sparkly nail polish and an ice cream with caramel.
(By the way, that’s not her shirt. She enjoys rummaging around other people’s closets at the nursing home and laying in other people’s beds. She is feisty!)
