Long time no post...
It's been years since I've posted anything in this and I'm not really sure why I'm doing it now. I still write in my real journal, I guess I just fell out of the livejournal loop.
Today my Dad came to visit me. He brought along his new girlfriend, which was kind of awkward. She's at least twenty years younger than he is. Not that I really think that's a big issue, it's just strange that she's closer to my age. I wasn't sure how to act around her. On top of that, I was feeling pretty hung over from last night's party and wasn't feeling very social.
We decided a few weeks ago that we would go see my grandmother while he's up here. I haven't seen her in about fifteen years. She's been a paranoid schizophrenic for longer than I knew what that meant. We used to visit her when I lived in Long Island and I would cut her grass for five dollars and some peppermint candy.
She's always been a mystery to us. She would weave back and forth from truth and paranoid rambling. Last time I saw her we were moving her into assisted living because she had boarded up the windows of her house and hadn't paid any of the utilities. She was living without heat or water in a roach-infested house.
I feel bad now for making fun of her with my cousins when I was a kid. We would just brush her off as a crazy old lady that I didn't want to associate myself with. My Dad used to always remind us that she had a tough life and it took its toll on her. When she came to the United States she didn't have a dime and was planning on living with the father of her child. When he rejected her she had to make her own way as best she could. My Dad tells me he didn't have his own room until he was married.
When we saw her today I barely recognized her. She was just a shriveled old woman staring methodically at the ground. We took seats beside her and told her who we were but she didn't recognize us. She kept repeating that her son Michael was a famous doctor who did catscans and radiology. Then she went on about owning a gas station in Rego Park.
While my Dad went to go speak to the nurses on her floor, I took the chance to sit down with her and ask her if she remembered Michael's children. She said yes, there was David, Daniel, and Lulu. My sister was still pretty young when we moved to Florida, and by that time, my grandmother's condition had gotten pretty bad. I loved the way she pronounced my brother's name with her French accent.
The nurses on her floor were telling us how independent she is. She never wants help walking or anything. I thought it was really cute that she didn't want anyone touching her hair. I never realized that I probably get my vanity from her. While my Dad was stroking her hair, she laughed and said that he can't do that, she just had it done.
On the way out my Dad told me she used to own her own hair salon in Morocco, but she sold it all for boat tickets to the States. Later, he told me another interesting story that I had no idea about either. Apparently she always thought she was a psychic and would have visions about prominent people. One day she happened to have one about the King of Morocco at the time. She found some way to call him directly and let him know that she needed to speak with him in person about this matter. From what my Dad tells me, the King flew her out of New York immediately to speak with him. She never told my Dad what they talked about.
The whole experience of seeing my grandmother again was very sad but I was just happy to see her. She seems very peaceful now compared to when we last saw her. I'm glad she remembered that I existed, even though she didn't recognize me.
Today my Dad came to visit me. He brought along his new girlfriend, which was kind of awkward. She's at least twenty years younger than he is. Not that I really think that's a big issue, it's just strange that she's closer to my age. I wasn't sure how to act around her. On top of that, I was feeling pretty hung over from last night's party and wasn't feeling very social.
We decided a few weeks ago that we would go see my grandmother while he's up here. I haven't seen her in about fifteen years. She's been a paranoid schizophrenic for longer than I knew what that meant. We used to visit her when I lived in Long Island and I would cut her grass for five dollars and some peppermint candy.
She's always been a mystery to us. She would weave back and forth from truth and paranoid rambling. Last time I saw her we were moving her into assisted living because she had boarded up the windows of her house and hadn't paid any of the utilities. She was living without heat or water in a roach-infested house.
I feel bad now for making fun of her with my cousins when I was a kid. We would just brush her off as a crazy old lady that I didn't want to associate myself with. My Dad used to always remind us that she had a tough life and it took its toll on her. When she came to the United States she didn't have a dime and was planning on living with the father of her child. When he rejected her she had to make her own way as best she could. My Dad tells me he didn't have his own room until he was married.
When we saw her today I barely recognized her. She was just a shriveled old woman staring methodically at the ground. We took seats beside her and told her who we were but she didn't recognize us. She kept repeating that her son Michael was a famous doctor who did catscans and radiology. Then she went on about owning a gas station in Rego Park.
While my Dad went to go speak to the nurses on her floor, I took the chance to sit down with her and ask her if she remembered Michael's children. She said yes, there was David, Daniel, and Lulu. My sister was still pretty young when we moved to Florida, and by that time, my grandmother's condition had gotten pretty bad. I loved the way she pronounced my brother's name with her French accent.
The nurses on her floor were telling us how independent she is. She never wants help walking or anything. I thought it was really cute that she didn't want anyone touching her hair. I never realized that I probably get my vanity from her. While my Dad was stroking her hair, she laughed and said that he can't do that, she just had it done.
On the way out my Dad told me she used to own her own hair salon in Morocco, but she sold it all for boat tickets to the States. Later, he told me another interesting story that I had no idea about either. Apparently she always thought she was a psychic and would have visions about prominent people. One day she happened to have one about the King of Morocco at the time. She found some way to call him directly and let him know that she needed to speak with him in person about this matter. From what my Dad tells me, the King flew her out of New York immediately to speak with him. She never told my Dad what they talked about.
The whole experience of seeing my grandmother again was very sad but I was just happy to see her. She seems very peaceful now compared to when we last saw her. I'm glad she remembered that I existed, even though she didn't recognize me.