Saturday, we made our first trip back to D1, Grandma’s apartment in the senior complex. With work and trying to get situated with the new additions to the household, we felt it best to wait until the weekend to move more stuff.
We came with totes, containers and garbage bags. My goal for this trip was to get more clothing, empty the refrigerator and the two dressers in the bedroom. Grandma accompanied us of course, but lost interest soon into the mission. Our first order of business was her closet. I thumbed through some hangers. I chose a tan sweater to take with us. On the very next hanger was another sweater – a light shade of brown. “That’s a good sweater,” she said, “that’s a very good sweater.” Ah yes, a very good sweater indeed. I recall borrowing it a dozen years ago to wear when I played a poor widow in a Sunday School skit. It has long been a mainstay in Grandma’s wardrobe.
“OK, I said… we can take that one too.” I could see this was going to be a painful process. “Why don’t you call Harriet? I can get along here” I suggested. Harriet is a 90-something year old friend of hers… “You haven’t seen her for a while; maybe you can go down and visit her.”
“I’m not sure where she lives…” (You know those apartment complexes all look alike). I grabbed the phone and called Harriet. She was pleased and anxious to have a visit. I told her to stand in her doorway and I’d send her down. Grandma was off in a flash, using one of the canes she had at the apartment.
I moved quickly, utilizing a three pile system: 1. Take home immediately 2. Store for warmer weather 3. Donate to the local crisis pregnancy center’s thrift shop. The thrift shop was winning. Grandma no longer needs the plethora of blazers she used to wear regularly. Also in that pile went anything is the size she ‘used’ to wear, clothing with buttons (arthritis unfriendly) and the myriad of cast offs she’d acquired from others in the complex cleaning out their closets. DH bagged quickly and carried to the cars.
She’s back. “Have they brought my lunch? I forgot all about my lunch.”
“No Mom… they don’t bring lunch on Saturdays… and they wouldn’t bring it here anyway. You don’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. What should I do then? “
“Were you done visiting with Harriet? Do you want to go back there?”
“Well I could… I just didn’t want to miss my lunch.”
“Go ahead. We have some more to do here. We’ll call when we’re ready. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” Again she heads to Harriet’s.
I move on to the dresser drawers. We had brought some long under the bed type storage containers and the plan was to empty the dresser contents into them (to be dealt with another day). I buzzed through them at record speed, throwing an occasional knick knack into the thrift shop pile. Mostly she had photos, rubber banded boxes (with my name on them) and various mementos from more than three quarter centuries of life. I visualize in the months ahead, pulling out one of these containers and providing her a trip down (hopefully) Memory Lane.
I hear the door. “When are we going to eat?” Back again. “I’m getting hungry.” Evidently the pancakes DH had made her this morning have worn off. “I told Harriet I was getting hungry. She asked me if I wanted a beer. I told her I don’t drink beer. How much longer till we have lunch?”
“We’re just about done for today” I tell her, “We only need to get stuff out of the fridge.” She takes a seat at the kitchen table as I pull a clothes basket over toward the refrigerator.
“This is a pretty nice table, where are we going to do put it?” she asks.
“We’ll sell it.” DH responds.
“Sell it? Why? This is a really nice table. I don’t think we should sell it.”
“We don’t have any place to put it. We’ll probably sell most of the furniture that’s still here. We’ve already moved everything you need.” Probably not the answer she was hoping for but she resigns herself (for now).
I zoom through the shelves, pitching as I go and depositing food within its expiration period in the “to go” basket. The freezer held many treasures in cardboard boxes and I realize the Schwan man will no doubt miss Grandma’s business… It all makes the salvage cut. DH pulls the unit away from the wall and unplugs it. I prop the doors open.
“What should we do with the refrigerator?” she asks, “do you want to sell it?”
“Probably not,” DH tells her, “it belongs to the complex. They wouldn’t like it if we sold it.” He takes the basket of food and heads to a car, telling Grandma it’s time for lunch.
“Are they going to bring lunch?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her, “We’re going to make you lunch. We’ll come back and work on the apartment more another day.” She is satisfied and heads for DH’s waiting car. I lock the apartment door and pull it shut…. Nothing will be going anywhere – it’ll be there waiting for me… another day.
So ends Episode 3.
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