Spent this evening with my grandmother. She is in a room with a new roommate, Ms. Owens, who barely speaks although I’ve gotten her to drink water and to smile. She says, Hello, Yes, No and Good-bye. When I came to their room today, my grandmother was sitting in her wheelchair, which she doesn’t need, but one she sits in because it is easier – for the staff. With dementia and as someone who has had multiple falls in the recent past, the chair keeps her contained, safe.

I take a breath as I turn the corner, preparing myself for the vacant look that will greet me at first. Thankfully, it is brief. As soon as she recognizes me, she smiles. I say Hello to Ms. Owens as I come in and go to my grandmother for a hug. “Are you going to take me out?” she says. “Yes” I say. “Do you want to go outside in the courtyard?” “Of course!” she says. I have her sit in the one other chair in her room while I get her word search book, her markers and paints, coloring book, water and playing cards.

We put everything onto the seat of her wheel chair and I have her push her chair (sometimes her only exercise for the day) as we walk side by side. Going down the long hall she says, “Hello! How are you?” to everyone we pass. She doesn’t seem to mind that most don’t/can’t respond. She seems happy as a lark.

We go outside into the courtyard and sit in regular chairs while the wheel chair sits abandoned next to us. I get out all of the activities – some days we do a bit of each though she never really remembers one. It doesn’t matter; we are just playing together. Yesterday, we played about 10 hands of our simplified poker game – “This is so fun” she had said. She doesn’t know that happened. Today is a new day. Every day, we have just as much fun and, as if for the first time. We spend 2 hours in the courtyard alone, word searching (no poker today), sharing my homemade soup and doing her nails. We go inside when it starts to get dark and a little breezy.

As always, my grandmother asks me which way at every corner. “You know?” she says. “I can’t remember where my room is.” “It’s okay,” I say. “I do – we’ll find it”.  “Yes, okay” she says with a smile. Then, “Which way do we go? You know, I can’t remember where my room is.” It has become another one of our funny rituals.

Once in her area, I tell the nurse at her station that I would like to give my grandmother a shower myself tonight. I have done this before but not at this facility. There was a little confusion at first since this is not the norm – for most people it is easier to let the nurse bathe their relative – it is too close for comfort, I suppose. And, the truth is, it was a little awkward for me at first. I was tentative; even though we are very close, I was not sure how she would respond. So, I just acted as if it wasn’t awkward, made it a bit of a game. She has become more the child I never had. I start with her back, which she loves to have scrubbed. “Give it a good scrubbing!” She will say. “Yes, that’s it! Oh that feels so good! Thank you!” When I get to her more intimate parts, I used to say – “Excuse me, I have to wash you but it's just what family does” and we would laugh. Tonight, I simply said, “ I am going to wash you, okay?” And, she said, “Thank you, it is so nice of you to help me!” At one point, after drying her off and helping her with her clothes she said, “I am afraid. I need something to hold on to”. I was holding onto her already but moved her slightly so she could hold onto the wall as well. She doesn’t talk of fear much but there are those moments where I see in her eyes a confusion or trepidation. So I hold her hands or touch her hair, scratch her back – the things that make her feel happy, comforted, loved.

This evening, after putting her into bed, I hugged and kissed her good-bye and went to pick up my things. She reached her hand out and grabbed my hand. She pulled me close and kissed my hand saying thank you. I kissed her hand back and said, Thank YOU! We laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow." I said. "Okay, don't forget to turn out the lights." She says.  The irony escapes her.  "Okay," I say and wave good-bye as I do.