Monday, November 28, 2005

God Bless (and bless, and bless, and bless...) America

Over the holiday weekend my wife and son, my brother and his wife and their two kids, and my mom drove up to visit my grandmother in her nursing home. While there, we were entertained by a resident who played the piano and encouraged us to sing along.

The first two songs were from before my time, so I was relieved when she launched into God Bless America, and I sang along happily. Two songs later, I was wondering why she was playing it again. Then she played it again... and again... and again. Six times in all; four of those times she prefaced it with, "All right, how about we sing God Bless America and that's it." By the end of the visit I was rolling with laughter, but the adverse side effect was that I still have that song stuck in my head.

My only hope is that you, too, will have it stuck in your head after reading this!

3 Comments:

At 6:51 AM , Anonymous Jane said...

That reminds me of my grandmother when her Alzheimer's got really bad. We were all at dinner and she held up her glass to toast, "Here's to you and here's to me and if by chance we don't agree - the Hell with you, here's to me."

We all laughed the first time, but then she did it again...and again...and again, as if the previous ones had never happened.

Sad, but still kind of funny.

 
At 6:58 AM , Blogger kevboy said...

Your comment reminded me of a saying that my grandmother recently became fond of... She leans in close and asks, "Do you like fruit?" When the startled subject answers in the affirmative, she fires back, "Then kiss my ass - it's a peach!"

I'm not sure where she picked that up, but it's so far removed from what I perceived her character to be that when I first heard it, I was a bit scared =)

 
At 1:17 PM , Anonymous Andrew said...

My grandfather also has Alzheimer's disease--it gets a little more pronounced every time I see him. Last Christmas we sat down to dinner and about every five to ten minutes my grandpa would get flustered and say, "My glasses. I can't find my glasses." Every time he would reach into his pocket and pull out the battered specs (which he says he doesn't need anymore), and breathe a sigh of relief. Then, back into the pocket they would go until the next time. By the end of dinner, we had taken to placing bets with gramps--$1 says that I can tell you where your glasses are. We never cashed in, but he was always impressed that we knew.

 

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