Grandma’s favorite stories—and poems—have been about her grandchildren. She loved the cute things you all did and the sweet things you said. Almost three decades ago, you made everyone laugh with what we like to call your “Oral Hygiene” incident that Grandma later wrote about in a poem:
Mom and Dad were traveling—
A three-year-old grandson so dear
Was staying with Grandpa and Grandma,
Making their world bright with cheer.
“Where is your toothbrush?” asked Grandma,
After getting him ready for bed.
“I think it’s down at my house,”
The smiling little boy said.
So Nic and Grandpa went walking
The next day, down to his home,
And soon Nic was brushing merrily;
His mouth was covered with foam.
“That’s a very large brush,” said Grandma.
“Are you sure it belongs to you?”
Nic gave her a great big bubbly grin;
His answer was simple and true.
With his feet perched on the nearby stool,
And his smiling mouth dripping foam:
“It used to be Dad’s, but it’s mine now;
I just brought it here from home.”
(~a poem about her grandson Nic, by Mary Shepherd)
Grandma’s teeth are cracking and breaking now. It seems to be the normal progression of things for someone who is almost 96. She eats less food and it’s softer, and everything she drinks is served with a straw. But true to form, according to her caregiver Tammy, last week Grandma used the straw to blow bubbles in her milk! Inside the frail little grandma with advanced dementia, there’s still a hint of the happy playfulness she used to share with her grandchildren.