(I will make one important distinction in the way she "accused" me this time as opposed to the last time, where My Father flipped out at her and told her to shut her mouth. She seemed more passive, weaker when she said it, as if she no longer believes that I took her checkbook, but instead she merely thinks I have it. I don't, of course. But I appreciate the change in tone, and I like to think that her calmer approach to the situation that she imagined in her head is an acknowledgement of how she acted six days ago, and that she at least remembers that she was wrong then.)
Father explained to her how they get money for Grandmother after she signs over a check. I don't know if she was complaining to them about missing her checkbook or not having any money while I was gone in the late afternoon/early evening (I went out to a shopping mall, then worked out for less than an hour), but she was back to her old, doddering, confused ways after dinner. And even after he explained things to her, I could hear her when I was in the bathroom complaining that she can't find her checkbook. While I was pulling my pants up I was thinking, "Oh, fuck. ..." and a part of me wanted to stay in there until she, I don't know, went away or something.
I had no choice but to storm out there, and it was weird seeing her in the front of her room, standing solemnly, hands folded in front of her, and while I passed by her she said, matter-of-factly, that she can't find her checkbook. As I do nowadays, I immediately go downstairs and tell Father.
"Forget it!" he screamed as he tried to put to desktop back together. "Don't help her find her checkbook, don't even go into her room!" I don't think this is the best way to help Grandmother, and I think his beefs with have nothing to do with her ailing mental health and have a lot to do with her annoying him. But honestly, I understand. And so I left.
---
Because the modem fucking wasn't working last night, I turned in early. I woke up from My Father's coughing, then heard my parents as one of them slammed the front door.
I swear Grandmother is up early and waits until they leave before she gets up. In turn, I don't leave my bedroom when she goes out to the kitchen. It didn't use to be this way; before, I would get out there and take her levels and make sure she takes her medicine in the morning. But, and I don't like admitting this, I don't like talking to her now. She weirds me out with her checkbook-looking and her talking to herself and her sighing and her wandering around and shit.
I know she's lonely. I can hear her from the sounds she makes in the kitchen. When she opens the refrigerator door I know she's just looking for its own sake. And sometimes I hear her pull out a chair, sit down, drink a gulp of her tea and make that annoying, "Ahhhhhhh!" sound after she swallows. And then I hear nothing. And I know that she's just sitting there, motionless, staring outside to the gray sky, probably thinking about life, loneliness and her mortality. And I want to race out there and tell her everything's going to be fine. But then she'll either say I have her checkbook or she'll ask me for money. And that's why I avoid her. I regret it, but I am just afraid to be around her now. And I'm sure she's getting sicker because of it.
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