Branches Of Thought

The iPad display at the front office scanned my face as it did every week. The reading showed my temperature was within normal parameters. I uploaded my proof of vaccination and a happy beep alerted the nurse that I could go ahead with my visit today. The procedure to get into the place never failed to stress me, but I was glad that visits were possible again. It was unbearable to think of her here alone for all those long months. Plus, it was all worth it to keep her safe.

I found her sitting in her usual chair by the window that framed the well maintained sitting garden. The clipped hedges and colourful flowers glowed in the early spring sun. Butterflies and birds danced on the edges of the picture perfect view. However, Grandma did not see them. Her chair was faced away from the window and she had fixed her gaze on the plain beige wall dotted with family photos. I wondered what memories had trapped her this time.

She startled when she saw me and clutched at the book on the table in front of her as if shamed to be caught in idle thought. Her work gnarled hands adjusted her blouse and she sat up straighter with a smile that left her eyes behind. I knew before she spoke that she was more alert today than she had been last week. Today she knew who I was.

“Hello I know that face,” Grandma put on a cheery demeanour as she greeted me. “Fancy seeing you here! Do you come here often?”

“Hi Grandma.” I kissed her cheek and sat down next to her. “Yeah I come here pretty often to see you.”

“You come to see me? Oh you needn’t bother you are too busy. Do you live far away? I hope it’s not too long a walk. Oh no I’m just fine here you don’t need to bother coming to see old me.” It’s the same script we run through every time. I reassure her it’s my pleasure to visit her but deep down I can’t help but wonder - if she never remembers I have been does it do any good to come? I feel like the worst granddaughter to even think that. This amazing woman was there to bake apple pies with me and take care of me when I was sick. Of course there was a point to visit her even if she forgot I had been there the minute I walked out the door.

This time I had a plan to try to deviate her from the same circular conversation we had held over and over again. I pulled out the photo I had taken on my trip to our home city, of a glorious pear tree laden with plump fruit. I let her gaze at it for a while and watched as she tried to pick it up with her arthritic fingers. I knew better than to offer to help. She had always been a fiercely independent woman.

“I remember on the school holidays I used to walk with you to your cleaning jobs. Do you remember this pear tree? It was so hot on the long walk to the house past the school. You used to stop here and pick me a pear to stop me whining about how thirsty I was.” I pulled a dirty coin out of my pocket and showed her. “I found this when I took the photo, buried near the roots. You always put one of these on a branch of the tree even though no one ever saw us take the fruit. One day you didn’t have a coin and you had me help you pull out the weeds in the flower bed at the front of the house. You told me that there was always a way to pay for what I needed as long as I wasn’t afraid of a bit of hard work.”

Grandma took the coin and it was hard to tell if she had followed my story. Her eyes glazed over either in recollection or confusion. She turned to me and asked, “Do you come here often? It’s nice here, I hope you didn’t have to walk far today.”

“Yes Grandma, I come to visit you here often. No I don’t have to walk far.” I felt a brief moment of disappointment that my story hadn’t sparked a new line of thought for her. I put old blue eyes on the record player and gazed over the photos of our happy family on the wall. Her life had certainly been bountiful and productive.

It didn’t really matter that I didn’t lure her into a new direction of thought. That was my memory to cherish and I could tell her the story again next week if I felt like it. Maybe she would think about it later in a dreamy bubble of thought. For the rest of the visit I just sat by her side as the music played and let her tell me about her nights at the dancing halls. I had heard all the stories before but that was not an issue to me. While she was still with us the very least I could do was sit with her in the time and place she remembered so fondly. Her body and mind may be failing her but I hoped I never would.