October 24: Sunday Entertainment

The grounds are nicely landscaped with agapanthus and birds of paradise and the always mowed-lawn is bordered by a neatly trimmed hedge. A heavy wooden door leads the way into the building's foyer with a front desk occupied by a smiling, yet bored attendant. Beyond the desk, the sitting room contains walkers, wheelchairs, and sleeping residents. Upstairs, the long, well-lit and quiet hallway leads to a padlocked door that few know the combination to. The door opens to an entryway with a small table displaying a photograph of a different person each week; in memoriam. Welcome to La Vida Real Memory Care.

Before the door has a chance to latch behind you, the thick, musty stench of death climbs into your hair and latches itself to your clothing. Walking around the wall that separates the premises from the exit, the sound of the television is loud and disruptive to ears that work properly. There are three rows of approximately ten chairs facing the TBS movie of the week or the San Diego Charger game; twenty of which are consistently occupied with more sleeping and dazed-looking elders.

My parents go through this routine every Sunday to visit my grandmother. She's been residing here since the passing of my grandfather a year and a half ago but it's a new experience for her every time. They always sit in the same area with her and her new best friend, Norma. They always arrive at about the same time and talk about the same things.

Occasionally Norma and my grandmother can't talk too long because they have to get back to searching for their deceased husbands. Sometimes my grandma and grandpa are going to a show, but she can't find him or the tickets. According to the caretakers, Norma's husband is always at the driving range with the car. It doesn't matter if it's sunny out or if it's raining; he's golfing.

If you've never been to an Alzheimer's home, you should put it on your bucket list and then move it to the top. It's a great experience. Sure, the facilities are sad, depressing, and smell awful, but where else can you have a conversation with your grandmother and be interrupted by a woman pushing a walker who can't hear? She can't remember if she had lunch and she can't remember if she's hungry. If you tell her that she probably ate with everyone else two hours ago, she'll walk away and come and ask you again in five minutes. "Have you guys had lunch yet?"

I can visit with my grandmother for fifteen minutes and she'll ask if I have a girlfriend twenty times. That's pretty annoying, but it's kind of fun when you realize you can tell her anything and it won't matter. "Yes, Grandma. I've been seeing a girl, but I don't think things are going to work out. I'm leaving her." This, of course, leads to the discussion of ethical ways of breaking a woman's heart.

That's what's so great about visiting people that can't remember anything. It's like a real life improvisation practice. Making the slightest change to an answer can drastically alter the direction of the conversation. How long can you go without breaking character?

Don't get me wrong. I can't imagine losing my mind and not knowing what was going on. I would hate living with a bunch of old people that could die at any moment. I wouldn't want to be locked into a building, but I think my grandmother is happy. She doesn't know enough to be miserable. You have to have a sense of humor about it and not let it get to you which is why Sundays are so entertaining.