Grandma’s Garden Gathering

Grandma decided to move into a nursing home. Before leaving, she invited us to a farewell gathering in her garden.

At the table, the usual laughter was missing, replaced by silence.

The adults urged her to reconsider.

They pointed at us grandchildren, saying we would surely miss her.

Grandma sat in the middle, waved her hand, and said, “No need to say more. I’m leaving.”

I could understand her decision.

Not long ago at Christmas, she wanted to visit me, just across the street.

But on the way, she suddenly forgot where she was, where she was going, or how to get there.

She froze on the spot, unable to move, until after a long pause she finally hailed a taxi home.

She told me that moment reminded her of my grandfather.

At 92, he was still strong enough to climb six flights of stairs with the bedding, but overnight dementia left him unable to care for himself.

She had seen him shivering in a corner clutching an umbrella, and she had also heard our sighs when standing beside him.

When she herself forgot where she had put her money, crying anxiously in the living room until we found it tucked in her pillowcase, she felt the same fear.

The terror of watching herself grow old was something none of us could truly understand or ease.

Still, the adults insisted on persuading her.

Even when busy at work, they would rush to take her to the doctor on a phone call, only to learn her dizziness was just slightly high blood pressure.

Though nothing serious happened, resentment and sighs sometimes surfaced afterward:

“It was just a minor issue, but she panicked. I had to take leave and lost a whole day’s pay.”

I once asked my father quietly: why not simply let Grandma go to the nursing home, as she wishes?

He thought for a moment and said, “Leaving her there feels too pitiful.”

He paused, “We can’t let her feel abandoned.”

I realized that adults do feel weary at times when caring for the elderly, and such fatigue is inevitable.

Becoming an adult doesn’t mean that fatigue disappears.

They simply learn to sigh while carrying their responsibilities.

So the only way they could express themselves was by trying to keep her ——

“You are not a burden to us.”

The day after the gathering, Grandma moved into the nursing home.

A month later, she sent her first video in our family chat: her former colleagues practicing Tai Chi.

She laughed so much her hands trembled, and the video shook along with her.

When I visited later, she held my hand and took me for a walk around the yard.

She looked thinner, but her face was brighter with smiles. She talked to me with great enthusiasm.

Along the way, she greeted every elderly man and woman with a nod.

At the gate, she patted my hand: “Tell the family not to worry. If I want to come home, I’ll say so. I won’t wrong myself.”

Compared to living alone at home, panicking at her own aging and mortality,

We had to admit: in the nursing home, she had companionship, group activities, and professional care.

The loneliness and ailments she once feared were eased here.

In her own way, she was softening the anxiety of aging and easing the burden on the adults. companionship

That day, as she left, Grandma said, “Everyone returns to their own life.”

She meant that each of us must handle our own life well.

She was also telling us, in her own way,

that she understood their attempts to keep her, but hoped they would also understand her departure.

Respecting her meant respecting the choice she made for her own life.