Granny Flats

Jenny was once a vibrant, intelligent and at times aggressive wife, mother and grandmother.  The harder the task, the more she relished tackling it.  She not only baby-sat her little ones effectively, she could outwit and outrun them. She was the life of the party which she engineered, placing a gourmet meal on the table with ease, scooting everyone out of the kitchen before and after the dinner party.  Her house was immaculate and frowns were nonexistent.

Little by little that began to change. First she had trouble remember what day it was.  Then she couldn’t find her glasses, and then it was her keys and pocketbook.  She could still whip up a delightful soufflé but had difficulty remembering the recipe or where the utensils were kept.  She had put them away but in the strangest places.

The family began to notice that she was changing, gradually at first but then quite noticeably.  She would forget to blow out the candles after a meal, and then she forgot to shut off the stove or the coffee pot until she earned the right to abandon, reluctantly, her love, the kitchen.  Finally, she became morose, then irritable.  Then she was depressed and withdrew. Jennie, as everyone knew and loved her, was disintegrating.

Henry, her husband of half a century and more, was heroic.  At first he covered up her miscues and shortcomings.  Then it became more and more difficult.  Finally he realized that he could cook, clean the house, go grocery shopping (with Jenny at his side) but the day came when he could no longer cope.  She had reached the end of her senior moment.

Whether it was hardening of the arteries, senility or Alzheimer’s Disease or perhaps a bit of all three, Henry did not know.  Nor did he fully comprehend what was happening.  Try as he would, he lost track of how many times she had wandered away from their home until he secured the doors.  Near misses, like burning candles and a lingering coffee pot, falls and scalding water added to a previously drawn bath took their toll.

Henry needed help.  His family came to the rescue, volunteering to peek in on them regularly. With their own agendas, this volunteering was hit and miss and eventually vanished.  Henry was a real trooper but his energy was beginning to subside.  His culinary skills proved to be inadequate as malnutrition loomed in the distance.

Again, his family came to his assistance.  They offered to take momma home with them during the day.  This also worked for awhile but necessity (or opportunity) left no one at home to care for momma. Then one of the sons had a brainstorm.  They’d build a granny flat onto the rear of their house where both mom and pop could live under the watchful eyes of the loving family.  They were loving except they were never at home.  It was a Grand Central Station with everyone coming and going on tracks 29 and 32.

Pop was beginning to fail now, and mom was gone, literally.  Home care was provided until Jenny fell, broke a hip, went to the hospital from which she never returned.  Pop faded into the granny flat until his heart fluttered and refused to go on.  Five years later, the granny flat became home to their boomerang daughter whose marriage went kaput.  This necessitated track 35 which just initiated, you guessed it, a junior moment.