I am drowning in guilt. My poor grandmother. I wanted her out of the house for so long and now sometimes all I wish for is for her to be back. But not the her she was when she left. I want my grandmother back. I feel so guilty knowing that she is sitting in some one-window beige room in a building full of people who don't know their own names and nurses that hardly speak English.
Sometimes she knows who I am, sometimes she doesn't. I feel so guilty all the time, and at any moment of contemplation or pure nothing it is her face that comes to me. In the middle of yoga class, in a meditation, sitting on the shore of the ocean. It is her face that draws the tears to my eyes.
I want to go to her, I want to see her, I want to love her, I want her to love me. Once I get there all I can think about how horrible the place is and how much I want to leave, but to leave without her? It seems like a crime.
Most days it's fine. Most days it doesn't cross my mind, but then when it does the guilt is tripled because of the emotional neglect I have doctored in my forgetting. I don't know what's worse, forgetting or remembering.
Tomorrow is thanksgiving. She will not be at the table with the rest of the family.
Will she know that it is thanksgiving? Will someone tell her, will she figure it out? Will she know what thanksgiving is? Will she know and curse us for not going to her on this holiday? Will she hate me for it? Will she remember me at all? Is she thankful for me? Is she thankful for anything? Does she know her own name? Does she smile? Does she love? Does she... exist?