Giving Grandma a Choice: Cone or a Cup?

Sometimes, life’s sweetness comes with an extra scoop

The author’s Grandma Gertie. Image courtesy of author.

I managed to get my grandmother’s wheelchair folded into the trunk of my car, which felt like no small feat. I was in high school, and though an honors student, anything involving the use of my hands was a challenge.

So I was feeling good when I picked up Grandma Gertie from the nursing home, dealt with the wheelchair, and settled her into the passenger seat of my red Chevy Beretta for an afternoon outing.

Grandma had been living in a nursing home for a year at this point, her mind having developed a habit of escaping her frequently enough that she could no longer live on her own. My Grandpa Jack, who gave me dollar bills every time I snuggled up to him as a boy on his chair, had long since passed.

My mother, the youngest of four siblings, was always closest with Grandma, which meant my sister and I were too. Our family did the visiting and caring and having Grandma over for long afternoons and evenings as much as we could.

Sometimes, Grandma would forget what era she was living in and mistakenly think Grandpa would be coming home from work. But she almost always knew who we were. She was always grateful for our visits.