Grappa Eddie

A few weeks ago, my Grappa reluctantly moved into a nursing home. From the time his parents set him under a tree with a cookie to keep him quiet in 1912, or so, while they set about building their house, he lived on that homestead his entire life--until now. He is 97 years old. He doesn't know any other home ... In recent years, age-related dementia has set in and his body is wearing out. I don't know any other 97-year-old who takes no regular medications. He's a tough old bird!

It's been a hard transition for him. When we visited him last week, he asked my mom, "How far from home do you think we are?" It's about 15 miles, but my brother has him believing it would be 5 days walk. "Well, maybe someone could give me a ride--just to look around."
Later he said, "I'll probably die here, huh?"
"Probably," my mom said. There were tears in his eyes.

He knows he's not home, but he doesn't know enough to know that he can't take care of himself anymore--and neither can Gramma Pickles.

Ma likes to say Gramma is "97 pounds soaking wet." She really doesn't have the strength anymore to tug and pull and struggle with Grappa to do basic caregiving tasks anymore (He's about 200 pounds.) This was something she never bargained on when they married so many years ago ... He was an older man, she was the young beauty.

I think if we bring some of Grappa's stuff to his room in the nursing home, it will give him something familiar to look at - a picture of the barn (that would be his backyard), the Willow Tree, the pine trees he planted many years ago for a windbreak ...

Since Oliver lost his first tooth a week ago, I asked Grappa about the jar of teeth he kept by the kitchen table. He seldom ever went to a dentist. He has one tooth left in his mouth these days. The rest of his teeth found their way to that jar ... That day, he said the teeth don't last forever. After a while they break down and turn to powder, too. Nothing left ... He has outlived all of his friends from the old days. And he wonders why he's still here.

A few years ago, I made a quilt for him. I expected to see that on his bed at the nursing home, looking cheery and fresh. But no--Gramma didn't want it subjected to the harsh laundry detergents at the nursing home. Fair enough. She wanted to give the quilt back to me, but I don't think he's through with it yet.

I'll try to post some of Grappa's old stories here soon. He was a great storyteller (here, we say "bull-shitter") and adventurer in his day. It's a wonder he made it to this age in one piece!