Time Perception

 “Take them away. They shouldn't have to see me this way. Are they enjoying themselves?”

I'd always thought that my grandma would definitely be there at my high school graduation, college graduation, and even my wedding. She's someone who has just been there. In my eyes, she always would be.

About four weeks ago, my family and I visited her. She complained about awful pain in her back and strange spasms in her legs.

“I'm not doing that, Michael,” she insisted to my father. Her legs were definitely moving, but it was hard to tell if it was involuntary and we didn't want to offend her by denying her claims.

We stayed for a couple hours, trying to take her mind off the pain and get her to talk about her past. When she acknowledged her age, she shook her head, and, laughing in humored astonishment, said, “Things change.”

Two days later, Grandma was in the hospital. My aunt had brought her to a neurologist who admitted her. Nothing was certain as to what was the matter, but soon she was out of the hospital and in a rehabilitation center. We decided to go visit her there.

She was a different person. She was irritable, depressed, frustrated, and confused. At first, it was tolerable. We wheeled her to a brightly lit spot to talk. On other occasions when we had been there, the brightness was welcoming and cheerful, but this time it was white, sterile, and cold.

“Why did you come to see me?”

My parents looked at each other, exchanging their worry without words.

“Because we want to see you,” my mom explained.

“But why,” Grandma demanded loudly and coldly, attracting the attention of someone walking by. She kept her head down, barely lifting it to look us in the eyes.

My sister, who is five years older than me, had tears welling in her eyes. She knew five years more about Grandma than I did and it hurt to see her this way.

“Are you enjoying yourself,” she shouted to my sister, “Let's stop talking about this. Stop talking.”

But she kept rambling on, an endless string of hurtful and nonsensical remarks that I never would've imagined she'd say.

“Grandma, we just want to be with you because we love you,” I cried out, practically choking on tears that were forming. She didn't listen.

I wanted my grandma back. I wanted her to be okay. I didn't know if she would be. No one knew.

A week later, we returned. The doctors had discovered that her medication was changed and probably caused her disposition.

When we saw her, she smiled with delight, as usual, ecstatic that we had come to visit. She was still confused, but all was well.

I think it was that day when I realized that I couldn't take my grandma for granted anymore. My perception of time and how precious it really is changed.