Memories of Grandma

November 8, 2011

NU Magazine - November, 2011

I wake up to the smell of matza brie cooking in the oven.

I quickly jump out of bed and run down the stairs. My grandma is laughing, reaching into the stove and pulling out the magnificent matza brie.

My cousins and brother are already sitting at the table, eager to eat. Grandmarsh, my grandma, gives each of us a big kiss on our foreheads and begins to serve us. My grandfather, Grandjack, walks into the room as well. He kisses us too, and sits down to eat the matza brie.

Grandmarsh continues to serve us, lovingly passing around the sugar and salt. I shovel down the matzo brie, and she reminds me to chew and swallow. I smile at her and continue to wolf it down while my taste buds tingle with excitement.

As we finish the scrumptious meal, Grandmarsh takes out the playing cards from the cabinet and begins to shuffle them. I look on with amusement, and she catches my glance and grins.

She takes my hands and positions them around the cards. “Try to do the bridge, Zachary,” she encourages me.

I attempt to bridge the cards, but instead they all fall out of my hands onto the table.

When my cousins laugh, she explains that I did the best type of shuffle, the 52-card pickup. My heart quickly warms and I chuckle, and she picks the cards back up.

We then play gin rummy together while my cousins play with toy cars with my grandfather.

As always, she never lets me win, even at my young age.

She advises me on the best moves, but her candor is obvious when I make the wrong play. She ruffles my hair after she beats me, and we go into the kitchen.

I help her put the dishes into the dishwasher, and I go play toy cars with my cousins.

When my parents come to pick me up after the long weekend, my grandma gives me a squeeze. She tells me to be a good boy and have fun. Going over her house and sleeping over is always a blast.

Now, when I visit my grandma, we go to Lynbrook Restorative Care. She lies feebly in her hospital bed, and does not even look up when we walk in.

“Hi, Mom,” my mom exclaims. “Your grandchildren are here to see you!”

Still, she barely acknowledges our presence; her once radiant smile exudes little light.

My grandma has been diagnosed with a form of Parkinson’s disease called multi-system atrophy, where all her systems fail, and there is no therapy to repair her.

Daily, my grandfather drives to the home and stays with my grandma.

Today is their 57th wedding anniversary, and we have a small party.

I help wheel my grandma outside to the patio at the nursing home, where my family and a few of my cousins are waiting. My grandma’s smile is now a little wider, when she sees old friends from England that came to see her. When she realizes we are having a party for her, she seems even happier to see us all. My sister and I help my grandfather feed my grandma, and we keep her company. With her condition, she tires easily, and she becomes content to watch the conversations and soak in the party. When it is time to leave, I give her a kiss on the forehead, and I tell her to be good to Grandjack and I will try to come back soon.

I always find it tough to see my grandma in this condition.

A year ago, she was able to walk around and play cards and make matza brie. Now, we realize she will probably never see her house ever again.

I do not relish my new role as a caretaker.

After so many years of Grandmarsh taking care of me, tucking me in at sleepovers, telling me great stories, or playing gin rummy, I know it’s now my turn to take care of her.

It’s horrible to see her in such a tough position, and I am disheartened to know our roles have been so quickly reversed.

Zac Brower, 17, attends Livingston High School and is a member of Nu’s teen board.