On the Persistence of Jealousy
September 20th, 2009by Dawn Corrigan
Four weeks ago my grandmother fell and broke her hip.
She hasn’t been home since. First she was in the hospital, and now she’s in a nursing home to receive physical therapy.
My grandfather visits as often as he can. But because he doesn’t drive anymore, he has to rely on others to drive him to visit her. And even when he does visit, it’s for an hour at a time. Whereas my grandmother is used to having him around all day, every day.
Because my grandfather isn’t around and my grandmother doesn’t understand why, like anyone in love, she imagines the worst. She pictures him whooping it up with others.
And then, because she has dementia, she believes what she’s imagined is real.
For about a week now she’s been telling me about all the fun Dom has been having. He’s been playing cards–and he’s been dancing!
“I had no idea he could dance so well!” she said. “You should have seen him, doing the Charleston! He was great.”
Of course he’s doing the Charleston. When I’m 90 and in the nursing home and my imaginary husband (it’ll have to be the imaginary one, Kelly having assured me he’ll be checking out long before then) is imaginarily stepping out on me, he’ll be flopping around on the ground to “Rock Lobster.”
“What a great Rock Lobster he does!” I’ll tell my imaginary granddaughter.
My grandmother makes efforts to control her jealousy when she’s speaking to me, because it’s still important to her that she appears as a sophisticated, worldly person in my eyes.
“That woman he was dancing with, she was great too,” she told me, nonchalantly. “But I didn’t mind.”
However, when Dom and I went to visit today, all bets were off.
At first she kept it good natured.
When the three of us were settled outside, she said, “He has a girlfriend, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. He can have a girlfriend. In fact, he can have three girlfriends.”
All of a sudden my grandfather is Hugh Hefner.
“No one could argue with that, Nan,” I said. “That’s very generous.”
Dom, however, was not amused by all this largess. He was looking a little panicked, in fact.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her.
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” she asked. “You know, the tall one.”
“My girlfriend is Frances.”
Ooh, nice play, Grandpa. Frances is, of course, my grandmother. But she wasn’t fooled by this simple trick.
“No!” she said. “You know who I mean.”
“Dawn,” he said.
“Hey!” I said. “Leave me out of it.”
“The tall one,” my Nan insisted.
And all of a sudden I had a terrible feeling I knew who she meant.
Her old friend Sarah at the Villas is quite tall, a fact my grandmother has commented upon frequently.
And this makes sense, right? Since she’s in the throes of a childhood romance, of course her rival would be her chum.
Not wanting to escalate things, I kept the name to myself.
“The tall one,” my grandmother said again, looking at me impatiently.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Nan.”
I’m a little worried about where all this is going to lead. But part of me is also delighted. I can’t help feeling like somehow this is good for my grandmother. There’s nothing like a love triangle–even an imaginary one–to liven things up.
[They were] at that stage of life–that is, between puberty and death–
when [they] might have benefited from a romantic attachment.
–Peter Cashorali
Oh Dawn,
there you go again
breaking my heart.
Sorry, Irene. It’s all so sad, and lots so funny–it helps me to share it.
It’s just so close to home, you know?
But I do love how you see it.
Healthy.
Better than I did.
Gosh, Irene. Thanks. I think maybe your view was a bit different too, though.
Erm … what you were looking at, I mean.
I’m going though a similar thing. Having a sense of humor can make all the difference. Thanks for sharing, Dawn. Really enjoyed this.
Thank you, Ducky. Best of luck with your situation also.
Caregivers are my heroes. It’s tough, but laughter helps tremendously and should always be present. I agree, the lively imaginary girlfriends could be an exciting diversion.
Hang in there.
Thanks, Jim! Yeah, it’s keeping a spark in her eye that’s missing from a lot of those other people at the nursing home, you know?
Heroes indeed.
All you can do is laugh
and go with grace
I’m trying, Sir, I’m trying.
Oh, i LOVE their photo! You capture that “spark” in everything you write about her. She is clearly blessed with love and a lively spirit, and, of course, you, paying such close and loving attention.
My dad had hip replacement at age 78, after which he went birdwatching in Fiji. In the nursing home, recovering post-surgery, he befriended another resident, whom he recognized as the owner of a Chicago wine store he and my mother frequented some 40 years prior. He said the man was happy to be recognized and they had some nice conversations.
A happy story, right?? I keep thinking I just need to trust that if someone has survived 80 or 90 years, they might have a few survival skills we softies don’t know about….
Thanks, Brock. I love that photo, too. It was probably taken around the time I was born! Certainly within a year of that.
And yes, I agree completely about the survival skills. I’m reminded of that over and over. (Someday maybe I’ll have the nerve to write about the advice she’s giving me these days, lol. Basically it amounts to ‘have more fun’ and ‘take more risks’ … cliches, I know, but fairly compelling coming from one’s seemingly so vulnerable grandmother.)
Dawn, This beautifully captures how our lives come full circle, the poignancy of moments captured when people who have cared for us are now vulnerable and looking to us for guidance. Really lovely writing.
Wow, Robin. Thank you very much.
Oh, sweet Grandma! I like that she tries to appear worldly to you. She’s not got dementia, she’s just tragically hip.
Rock lobster. Hilarious.
Heh. Thanks, Erika. Did you follow the dance links, by any chance? I expected them to be so different, but then I realized the Charleston and the Rock Lobster are more similar than I thought.
OK - even funnier than I first thought. Hilarious crossover.
I linked you to Face Stories today:
http://www.facenews.org/on-the-persistence-of-jealousy/
Cool! Thanks!
If he can still get it up, my imaginary husband can step out on me all he likes when we’re 90. I doubt I’ll be too interested in his Rock Lobster or his Gulf Shrimp. I’ll just want someone to visit me in the hospital.
This was great, Dawn. So easy to see how it could be a novel, from a granddaughter’s narrative voice.
I wouldn’t have said my Nan was interested in her husband’s Charleston anymore, either, but there you have it.
Thanks, Megan. My aunt suggested a book, too. I’ve been collecting little vignettes … we’ll see.
Dawn:
This was both touching and hilarious. Especially that one passage:
“When I’m 90 and in the nursing home and my imaginary husband (it’ll have to be the imaginary one, Kelly having assured me he’ll be checking out long before then) is imaginarily stepping out on me, he’ll be flopping around on the ground to “Rock Lobster.”
That was quite memorable, my dear. So memorable that perhaps I’ll remember that paragraph when I’m 90.
Thanks, Rich. Hey, maybe it will be you imaginarily flopping around to “Rock Lobster.”
You’ve got to love that she’s crazy enough about your grandfather- at this late stage in the game- that she still gets jealous.
” ‘It’s okay. He can have a girlfriend. In fact, he can have three girlfriends.’
All of a sudden my grandfather is Hugh Hefner.”
Made my day.
Thanks, Marni. And yeah, exactly.
Oh poor thing. Your grandfather must be heartbroken. I think that will be the worst part of growing old.
Yeah, he’s definitely anxious and confused. I hope things will improve when she gets to move back home.
Heh. Rock lobster.
Still. Poor Dom.
I know. Poor man. Hopefully we’ll be getting her home soon and her imagination, and the accusations, will settle down a bit.
At around age 100, my great grandfather once took to asking my girlfriend at the time and me when we’d be getting married. After repeatedly pointing out that we were only 16 and still in high school, we finally gave up and said, “Next Wednesday, Jaja, I hope you’ll be there.”
It seemed to placate him. This reminds me a little of that. One of those moments in life when comedy and tragedy slap each other around a little. But I have to admit, I feel most alive when I’m feeling something I don’t completely recognize.
Irene said something very similar in the comments on my next post, about just humoring people with dementia whenever possible, and I agree.
But ooh, I love your observation about feeling most alive when feeling something you don’t completely recognize. That’s a keeper. I’m pretty sure I do, too, but I have to think about it for a while to make sure it’s really true, and not just something I wish were true about myself.
Please tell my story when I’m on my way out or gone. You manage to make everything sound so… amusing, as life should be. I love how you convey Nanny’s ongoing hots for Dom even when she is pissed at him. Never a dull moment in their lives… it must be exhausting (for you)!
Thanks, Pam. But I’m afraid it might be hard for me to tell your story, since I’ll be right there on the porch of the nursing home with you, next rocking chair over–and probably accusing you of stealing my decrepit imaginary boyfriend!