Agnes

I was telling Anthony at dinner Tuesday night that I needed to go home and visit my grandmother. I’ve written about her here many times before. She’s now 96, nonverbal and mostly cloudy in a long term care center in Louisville. Still when I look into her steely blue eyes I can tell she recognizes me. I need to go and brush her hair (still a thick head of white hair!) and massage her hands with some lotion. Her skin is like tissue paper – like fragile filo dough. You can see her veins slighly pulse beneath her skin. Seeing her puts all of my millenial annoyances to rest. It grounds me again.

Published by <span class='p-author h-card'>Andy</span>

Gay Hoosier Taurus INFJ ex-playwright pianist gymbunny published author in San Francisco.

4 replies on “Agnes

  1. That’s very moving. I imagine how she looked at you, loved you and cared for you when you were first born. Now you are doing the same for her in her autumn years.

  2. She and her husband (this is my mom’s parents) were amazingly active up into their early 80s. I hope I’m that much of a shit-starter when I’m her age. She has such a great laugh – a veritable cackle that my mom has now. 4 kids. 17 grandkids. 20+ great grand-children. It’s like the Kennedys without the laciviousness.

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