The hats were centerpieces on the table, but my mom put this one on Alice for a little while.
She was coherent but not talking much-- maybe twenty words the entire time we were there. She reacted, though, and she laughed about several things. She's still feeding herself, though not easily, and she doesn't seem to be eating much. I told her about Europe and showed her some pictures, and I told her about all of the election and political things she's been missing. She seemed to know who I was, but didn't identify me by name or anything.
She did seem well cared for, and the people knew her name and that she kept kosher-- which is more than I can say for most nursing homes.
According to Alice's daughter Sherri, the doctors think she has about a week to a month to live.
Which is terrifying.
Ever since my grandparents died (and before, as well), Alice has been a surrogate grandmother to me. She's been in a motorized wheelchair as long as I've known her, but she has always been mobile-- her house was always super orderly, and she knew where every single thing was. She had a huge sparkling pool and an outside kitchen, and we'd have parties there. She had a van she could drive with the disabled moving ramp, and she's come over and do things, come to dinner, have garage sales. She'd also scream at her TV, tell me about her crush on Wolf Blitzer, and bash Republicans like nobody's business.
My best guess is that she's in her early nineties.
Five or so years ago she moved into an assisted living facility, and about two years ago she moved into what is basically a nursing home. I really hate watching her decline in health. I hate having to watch her spill her pureed food on herself, and not care or even notice.
I guess I can't really say "I hope she gets better" -- because it isn't really going to happen. I guess I can only hope that she's enjoying her time and that she's not in too much pain.