My grandma isn't well.
She could use your prayers and/or new-age hippie healing thoughts.
Last week Mom and I moved her from the assisted living (which she loved) to the nursing home (not a fan), and it's been anything but a smooth transition.
She's on her last legs. Physically, mentally... it's all falling apart.
That's the way of life. But it's unpleasant to see her in distress.
Recent circumstances have reminded me that my Grandma has got to be the most
stubborn determined person I know of. The trouble is... she's never been all that determined to be happy or at peace. She's been determined to survive.
My grandma was born and raised in a small farming community in Arkansas during the great depression. (Although I don't think her people noticed the depression much, as they were dirt poor to begin with.) She was the youngest of 8 children (they're all gone now), and when she was a baby (a year old maybe?) her father was murdered. (I want to say there was a dispute over corn.) So her mother was left to raise multiple children and run a farm and survive. Alone. Can you imagine?
All I can say is that there's a serious streak of female tenacity running down that line of my family tree.
What I can't say is that I really understand my grandma, or her beginnings, or her present.
I'm just musing.
As this nursing home drama unfolds, I am getting an unprecedented glimpse into the special brand of crazy that is my birthright.
My grandma has done an outstanding job of surviving.