If you’ve been following my blog or my fan page on Facebook (go here and like it if you haven’t yet – http://www.facebook.com/pages/Somewhither-Arts/128677614548) you know that my Grandma Alice, we call her Grandma A, was living with us for a few months >5< and we moved her back to Cali last month. A couple weeks after her move, she had a stoke. Which, of course, landed her in the hospital and is now an a rehab facility where she will be kicked out when she no longer improves. Lovely huh. Unfortunately, because of what has happened, the strangeness of it all and the fact that she last lived with us, I keep ending up in San Diego in my grandmother’s mind. Since she has moved in to the rehab, apparently I have:

Moved in down the hall. (And sometimes my sister and I live upstairs. Now mind you, there is no upstairs.) In the middle of the night, I have been screaming for help. And if someone doesn’t help me soon, she’s going to call 911 because my neighbor across the street is murdering his wife. Now mind you, I don’t think she could even make it to the phone because her left side is paralyzed.

Then, one night, I was smoking pot with the other staff at the rehab out in the hallway. Nothing could have been further from the truth since I was at a friend’s one year celebration for being drug and alcohol free that night. Actually, it was kind of ironic.

Aye, it’s so hard to be good now a days. I hate to laugh at what she thinks is real, but it’s funny. At least people are telling her that the things she thinks are not true. And I hope to be able to visit her and my other grandma, Grandma Barbara – yup, guess what we call her, Grandma B – who also has dementia, Alzheimer’s,  and had a stroke last summer, soon.