The place looked like a hotel. I’d never seen a
nursing home with bellhops before. When you come into the lobby, the stylish
chrome paneling, red awnings and gold-plated revolving doors made you feel like
you wanted to check in and take a dip in the pool instead of just visiting.
The moment I saw nana tears welled up in my eyes. I
was amazed at how nice her room was. The place used to be a hotel in the 1920’s.
There she was, sitting in a chair by the window, her head turned toward the
light. When I came in, she didn’t seem to notice.
“Nana?” I said gently, brushing away a lock of grey
hair from her soft, wrinkled forehead. “It’s Violet, honey. How are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. All she did was stare outside at
the sunny 10 a.m. Manhattan skyline. I hated seeing her like this. It had been
ten years since she first began showing signs of dementia. The once strong
indestructible figure in my life was gone, long gone.
The doctor came in with his chart. Every time I was there
a different doctor was on the scene. I wanted to know what was going on with my
grandmother. He said nonchalantly that it was the disease taking its course.
On the way down I bumped into Kayla, a friend of
mine who referred me to this place. She had nothing but the highest praises
after her grandfather was admitted several months before. Her usual bright-eyes
were dark, troubled. I couldn’t let her go without asking her what was up.
Looking around, she took hold of my arm. “Meet me at Adolfo’s later around 4
o’clock.” That was it. She disappeared into the swinging revolving doors.
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