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December 22, 1995
Dear Buddy,
I am replying to your letter of December 19, about this year’s Christmas tree.
[Buddy is here in Wyocena, visiting Gramma, and here is his report:] Gramma received my Dec 19 letter today, and she opened it after she and I had supper together in the lounge near the dining room. Gram had sort of a hamburger sandwich, cross-cut fries, pineapple slices and cottage cheese, and coffee. I had about the same except I had a hot dog instead of the hamburger (“What are my other choices?” I asked Dana, the cook who offered me a hot dog. “Well, I have hamburger,” she admitted reluctantly, “but I’m kind of saving it for my low-salts.”), and my dessert was a super-sweet-super-tart lemon bar. Two bucks is the price of a guest meal here except on major holidays; Christmas dinner—duck, ham, etc., pies—that will set a person back two dollars and fifty cents.
I greeted Gramma when I first saw her last night with the words, “Hello, Gramma! Who am I?” She struggled with the answer, and when I told her “I’m Buddy,” she said, “Oh, are you? Are you sure?” She wasn’t sure who the man with me (my dad) was either. After a time, she wondered, correctly, “Isn’t he Gordon?” But when I asked how he’s related to her, she thought perhaps he was her nephew. She had the same guess for her grandson Terry, who visited earlier this evening, and for me. She didn’t recall that Aunt Dolly visited and signed her guest book.
“How old are you, Buddy?” she just now asked me. “I am forty-six years old.” “Oh, are you that old?” asked Gram. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I’m sure. What year do you think this is right now, Gram?” She stared at me. “I’d have to think about it,” she said at last.
She has asked me four or five times whether she had supper tonight—we finished just half an hour ago. She also repeatedly asked if my folks will be coming tonight.
Old-time memory is much better than memory of recent occurrences. I read her a Christmas card return address of Rosella Lansing, Ventura, California. “That’s Aunt Ida’s daughter,” she instantly informed me. Now I’ve asked her brothers’ and sisters’ names, and she’s going down the list for me. Ralph, Elsie, Arthur, Everett, Eugene, Roy, & Elaine. Took her under half a minute. When I mentioned Morris, she said, “Why, that was my baby brother” correctly; he died in infancy.
Gramma is very cheerful & patient and, to me, very beautiful—has scarcely changed in appearance since my last visit in August 1994. Her memory and sense of present events seem only a bit worse.
I’m going to write the last of my Christmas cards during this evening’s visit, I hope.
But first, I’m looking through some of these envelopes—my Tuesday Letter envelopes—already found one with an unmailed Gramma Reply from Sep 94. I’m taking out the letters and unfolding them and setting aside the envelopes. “You better save the stamps,” Gramma advised me.
6:53 “I wonder if the folks are apt to come.” “I don’t think so.” “Well, I hope they do.” “Am I good company to you?” I asked. Gramma laughed.
6:58 “Don’t we have to go to supper pretty soon?” “No we don’t. We ate.” “We did eat?” “Yes, ma’am.”
“Who is Mary Grossman (one n)?” I asked, finding her name on a meditation booklet. “Well, it was Stub and Mary ... can’t you look up their name?”
7:04 “Gee, I wish Grandpa and Grandma Grossmann were still living ... because I used to be able to see them & they used to come see me. ... They were nice people. ... Oh, I can’t remember them exactly ... I think they lived out with Reuben out the other side of Grandma Grossmann’s; do you know where that is?”
7:14 The nurses call button, high pitched, incessantly nags at us. Or nags at someone! Meanwhile, Christmas carols accompany it.
7:17 “Do you think the folks will come tonight?” “I don’t think so, Gramma.” “Well, I thought they would, some of them.”
7:20 “What do you remember of your Hawaii visit, Gramma?” “Well, I remember going there.”
7:20 “Don’t we have to eat supper yet?!” “No ma’am, we had supper.” “Are you sure?”
7:23 “Well, that ain’t squawking up there anymore.”
As I write a card, I ask, “Want to say something to my brother Bruce?” “Well, I always liked him so well. I could say most anything ... He was a nice little guy.”
7:26 “I’d like to eat something before I go to bed.” “I’ll get you some cereal if no one brings you any by eight o’clock.” “There comes a car. And another one. And another one.”
7:27 “Can we come down here again after supper?” “We had supper.” “Hah?” “We had supper!” “Are you sure? Well, I don’t feel as if I’d had supper.” “Are you hungry?” “Oh, not really.”
7:30 Gram listened to her talking watch and misquoted it: “Seven thirteen p.s.” I laughed. “Seven-thirty,” I told her. “Oh, it wasn’t 7:13?” “Nope, sorry.”
7:31 “Can we have this stuff put away pretty soon?” Gram asks hopefully, referring to the table covered with my knapsack, five 3-ring binders, stacks of letters & envelopes, Christmas cards, box of Kleenex. “Sorry, Gram. I’m writing cards, and then I’ll look at your Tuesday Letters.”
7:36 “Can you take these out of there and throw that out?” asks Gram, referring to the near-empty Kleenex box. I took out the tissues and handed them to her. “Oh, I don’t know as I wanted them.”
7:38 “What do you want to say to Lorrie Jansma?” “Most anything would be right.” Elvis is singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
“Gram, can you hear the Christmas carols?” “Business What?” “Christmas carols.” “Oh, where do you hear them?” “In the dining room, I guess.” Bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, and a zillion bings on the nurses call. This place could drive a person’s memory out of the vicinity!
7:47 “Can we come back down here after supper?” “Uh, Gramma, we’ve had supper already.” “We did?”
Real carolers have come here. 🎵Away in a Manger🎵 — wonderful! They didn’t come into this lounge, but we glimpsed them in the hallway.
7:52 “What is this?” “That’s my watch. It doesn’t talk.” “Well, why don’t you put it in your pocket then?” “Ha! I have to look at it; it doesn’t talk.” “Why don’t you put it away. You can take it out when you need to.”
7:53 “I wish I could do something about that spot on my toe! ... It’s a sore spot.”
7:55 “Will you go home from here?” “Yes. I’ll go back to your farm.”
7:57 “I wish I was to bed and to sleep.” “I wish I was better company to you.” Gram laughed. “Well, I guess I don’t lack company. Right now.”
[I went to get someone—Michelle—to bring a cereal snack.]
8:27 “Hi, Gramma. I visited Wayne Wetlaufer.” “Oh, did you. He’s a dent—” “He’s a what?” “He was a druggist!” “That’s right.” “In Rio.” “Yep. I went to school with his son at Rio.” “Then you know him.”
8:30 “Gee, I wonder if any of my folks will come tonight.” “How about me? I’m here.” “I mean some others.” “Do the others talk more to you? Do they keep you better company?” “No, not that I know of.”
8:38 “My son David is fourteen,” I say, just to say something as I write a card & label a photo. “Fourteen years old?” “Yep. My daughter is eight. My dog is two.” “Your dog? I guess I don’t much care about him.”
8:39 “I thought maybe some of my folks would be coming tonight.”
8:53 “When you come to my words, will you give them to me?” “Sure, Gram. What do you mean?” “Well, I don’t know. That’s my bowl. I can go to bed as soon as I take my robe off.” “Okay, Gram, I’ll pack up.”
The End—For Tonight.
♦
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