Granny D

“Remember,” my father advised my 10-year-old self, “when it comes to your grandmother, you have to be the parent.” I had never been a parent before. How does a child supervise a 70-year-old? Can I ground her? Take her knitting needles away for a week?  

It was like having a younger sibling, not a grandparent. Grandparents are supposed to be loving and want to spoil their grandkids with cookies and candy. Instead, my grandmother, or “Granny D” as we called her, was a toddler with a driver's license.  

Bundled under the covers with a fever, fighting off an infection, I stayed home alone from school one day. Her sense of timing was impeccable to just so happen to ring the doorbell on the day someone would be home, unless my parents were feeling a bit feverish themselves and thought it would be a good idea to babysit one another. If so, they were very, very wrong.  

With her curly brown grandma perm she carried over her shoulder a colorful, oversized straw bag she went everywhere with because that’s how she snuck in her Chihuahuas, Patty numbers 1, 2, and 3, over the years. (Yes, she numbered and named all of her dogs “Patty”.) As I reluctantly climbed out of bed to open the door, she greeted me with an eccentric, “Hello!”  

I turned and headed toward the nearest place to lay down, the sofa, as she followed me in. For a minute you would have thought she was a regular grandma, concerned and wanting to pamper and nurse the sick child. She made a lot of fuss about how she was going to take care of me. But that’s where they get you. They fool you into thinking they’re sane just long enough for you to let your guard down.  

She scurried around as though looking for something and then popped out of the kitchen with a spray bottle filled with plain tap water. “Look at all these bugs!” she exclaimed as she went about the room spraying water into the air. “I don’t see any bugs, Granny D,” I replied. “Oh yes, there’s bugs everywhere! Let me get them sprayed and you’ll feel much better!”   

Then, as though the water had instantly vaporized all the “bugs” Granny D dropped the bottle and piped up, “I know what you need! Let’s go to the store!” I was really in no shape to be going anywhere and told her that. “Come on,” she insisted, “the fresh air will be good for you!” With my face pressed into the cushion I, again, denied her request.  

“I’ll buy you whatever you want!” she coaxed. At that, I decided maybe I could muster a little bit of energy. What would be the harm in a quick trip to the store, maybe get some soup and crackers, maybe a magazine, maybe something a little pricier... 

Wearing pajama pants and house shoes I buckled myself into the front seat of her sedan. As she started the car and put it into gear, she looked over at me and grinned. At that, you would've thought she turned into Ms. Frizzle from the “Magic School Bus” just as the school bus magically turns into a rocket ship and the Frizz shouts, “Wahoo!!”  

We, too, shot off like a rocket. This was no “Sunday Driving” Granny. She was making up for all those lost years she missed out not getting to be a Formula One driver. As we came to the upcoming red light at the first intersection she slowed down, and then kept right on driving. “Red light!!” I screamed. “Oops! Oh well, there was no one coming,” she laughed.  

She did that at every intersection as I clenched my eyes shut and held on for dear life. Fortunately, her destination wasn’t that far away. As she pulled into the parking lot, I realized the “store” she was talking about that would make me feel better and she would buy me whatever I wanted, was in fact, the fabric store. You know, for those knitting needles she needed taken away.  

I sat in the car, shivering and laying against the door as she skipped inside, little Patty number whatever tucked quietly inside her purse. She did keep a stash of cookies with her, but it wasn’t to give to her grandkids. She bribed Patty with cookies to get her to keep quiet so no one would know she had her inside a store. Not dog cookies, mind you, homemade people cookies that you would get your hand slapped if you tried to take. No, no, those were Patty’s precious Salted Caramel Chocolate Chip Delights.  

I dozed off and startled awake when she returned to the car. “You really missed a good time,” she said, “look at all this yarn I got on sale!” I un-amusedly nodded. “Listen, dear,” she added as she started the car, “when we get back will you show me how to use email?”  

I knew immediately that was a bad idea. Granny D didn’t even know how to turn on a computer, let alone use email. I once spent 45 minutes trying to explain to her the concept of scrolling. She couldn’t seem to understand that there was more to the page she couldn’t see, and much like a paper scroll, you had to scroll down the page.  

Somehow, we made it home alive. That evening, my parents were furious to discover she had taken me on her outing to get yarn and even managed to miss every single red light and stop sign we came across. How we didn’t get in a wreck or pulled over by police, I’ll never know, but that’s how Granny D went about life, she was invincible.  

She had a manic joy about her, and this crazy kind of likeability (or manipulation as my parents called it) that made people do whatever she wanted. She went about life with a carefree attitude, never worrying about what people thought or how she would get by.  

Growing up over the years Granny D pulled many more crazy stunts that were usually followed by “vacations” to the hospital because it meant Granny had stopped taking her medications. The doctors would adjust her meds and then release her back out into the world, until she stopped taking them again and she would repeat the process all over again.  

My parents didn’t know how to handle her and attempted to have her committed for good, but the doctors insisted that as long as she was stable on her medications and wasn’t going to harm herself or anyone else then she had to be released.  

Eventually, Granny D did get her license taken away from her. At least now she couldn’t harm anyone with her car, but she did still find ways to get around. By the time I was grown and Granny D was well into her 80s, my dad received a phone call from a Sheriff’s department in Arkansas. We didn’t know anyone in Arkansas, and it was over 600 miles away.  

A farmer had found Granny D in the middle of his wheat field sopping wet and dancing in the pouring rain. With no idea where she got the money, she had hopped a bus for Arkansas to “claim” some land she thought she owned. “She doesn’t own any land in Arkansas,” Dad told the deputy, “We have no ties to Arkansas whatsoever.”  

"Well, do you have anyone who can come get her?”  

“No, we can’t come get her! Every time someone calls me about her, I always tell them she needs to be committed! Just commit her already!” At that, he hung up the phone.  

I felt bad for my grandma. I had been raised and taught the importance of taking care of our elderly. But Granny D had burned all of her bridges. Of all of her kids, grandkids, and even distant relatives, there was no one left to bail her out of trouble anymore. Maybe someone else can help her now, I thought, or maybe now that I’m an adult I can see to it that she gets the care she needs. I can be the one person who doesn’t give up on her. She can live with me and I can make sure she takes her medication regularly. Maybe we can hire a nurse to visit regularly...  

My phone rang an unfamiliar tune. Incoming Video Call from: Dolores Dempsey. How the hell did she learn how to video call?! And where did she find a phone or computer?? I remembered my heroic plan to be the person she needed to take care of her until her final days. I placed my finger on the red icon and swiped, then went back to my day.