When I go downstairs, I have to confront the reality of Gran's situation. Of my situation. I have to face the reality of who she is now: old, frail, helpless. I have to try to help her while trying to maintain the illusion of her independence. I'm naturally softly spoken (people call me a mumbler) but I'll have to shout to communicate with her. I'll have to lift her onto the toilet, and lift her off when she's done, and try to make it feel like she did it on her own.
When I go downstairs, I have to accept for another day that this amazing woman, my Gran, has all but left the building and what's left is just the shell. I love her, and I'll do anything I have to for her, but christ, I could do with another cup of coffee before then.
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