I’ve been writing in one form or another since grade school. Novels, since high school. Always, words have been there as a source of comfort.
Two years ago, I got a call from my mother asking me if I would relocate back to my hometown and move in with my grandmother– my uncle was supposed to be watching gramma, but he got arrested for selling meth. *sigh* Just had to cook and clean, keep her company.
They didn’t tell me my grandmother had Alzheimer’s.
The first month went well. I was me. We were in her house. All was cool.
After that, shit hit the fan in waves. Actually, here’s a visual: imagine a cliffside and a massive herd of lemmings making a break for it. Except, it’s not an ocean, but a fan, and those aren’t lemmings, that’s fecal matter.
THAT’S what it’s like.
Two years of little sleep. Of getting up in the wee hours to assure her that it’s not time to start the day– 3 am is not time to brew coffee. Of getting up and turning off the gas stove that didn’t light but she turned on because she was cold in her room.
Two years of getting shafted by family who was supposed to relieve me so I could have me time. Local family does not visit my grandmother, it’s too awkward for them. They earned themselves a place in my novelization of this situation.
I’m not me, she doesn’t remember what her granddaughter looks like, but she KNOWS its not me. How dare I insinuate I’m her granddaughter? I’m her cousin’s ex-wife, dammit!
Depends are a great invention. Unfortunately they are optional, and at times, I wonder if I should get my grandmother a kilt so the whole going regimental thing makes sense. Would like to say, it’d be nice to not keep a mop in the bathroom for midnight clean ups.
I love my grandmother, that’s why I’m here.
And I cannot deny the stress I’ve been under the past two years has manifested itself in a postive manner. I’ve finished my first novel. I’m balls-deep on another project. I’ve got ideas being written down and wonder how I’m going to make each idea into its own novel, or whether I should pop a couple in the mental blender and go Frankenstein on it… ah. Creativity expresses itself when I get in a tizzy, and I’ve been very creative lately.
I suppose to make this post complete, I should state that if you don’t have one already, a living will should be on your to do list. Please let your loved ones know what you want done if you are unable to make those decisions yourself. Don’t leave it up to your family/friends, because they can only guess and go by the dictates of doctors.
Okay. Now I need to go write a tawdry sex scene.
See how that works?