unforgettable...

to see her in the flesh is an inaccurate representation of who she truly is... only old photographs capture her likeness anymore... her complexion is now dimmed with a look of frustration and loss that overwhelm her features... only one hand can reach out and touch and she can barely squeeze my hand between her fragile and quivering fingers...

a stroke is a storm she has weathered more than once... each incident causing more and more of the woman i knew growing up to disappear... her body slumps like useless matter in her wheelchair... her voice has been replaced by the nervous sound of her tongue continuously hitting the roof of her mouth... she stares at our faces when we enter the room and slowly registers familiarity -- which is then confirmed with a goofy grin and shaky motion of her hand...

it has become increasingly difficult for me to visit her... upon entering the front door, the scent of the nursing home evokes a sense of helplessness... the stale feeling as you walk down the eerily quiet hallways... the gaze of elderly people, seemingly waiting for their own smiling face that might never come... my grandmother's room at the home reflects her past life -- it is riddled with paintings and furnishings that i used to barely notice as a young thing... now they are what i turn to gaze at when looking at her is too painful...

she can no longer speak to me -- the stroke stole that away from her... but at least when i walk into the room, her face tells me she knows... even though i've grown over the years that she has deteriorated, she's never forgotten my face... and as i leaned in to smile at her this afternoon, she softly wiped the hair from out of my face and smirked that goofy grin... i kissed her warm, soft cheek and quickly looked up at that same oil painting of a calm landscape that once hung above her living room couch... i pressured myself to will the tears back into my eyelids because i never want her to see me cry...