But Grandmother's Body Wasn't Even Cold Yet

Going back to Grandmother getting put into a nursing home ... she left on a Wednesday, and from the looks of the commotion and clutter that evening after I came home it looked like My Fucking Parents were more than eager to make changes to her room -- and to the house -- once they threw her out for good.

My Fucking Father had told me that Grandmother's bedroom needed cleaning. Well, according to him it needed cleaning. And OK, there's been no thorough scrubbing of anything in there in a long time, plus with the way Grandmother brings and keeps food in there, it could've been a lot more sanitary. But I'm not the most fastidious guy either, and I'm fine, and I like my cluttered bedroom.

But My Fucking Father tore into her old room like a thug trying to find some photos or a flash drive containing state secrets. The bed instantly was moved to another room, and the frame and the shelf behind it was trashed. All of her clothes -- and she has a lot of clothes -- were driven to Grandmother's new place. The dresser next to her bed was thrown in the dumpster. There's another huge dresser across from Grandmother's bed; that which was in the drawers may or may not still be in there, but anything else on it (a lot of it rotting food) was tossed. The dresser itself is still there, but for how long, who knows.

There was a dresser desk that abutted the foot of Grandmother's bed. That was where the TV set was placed. Those two appliances are now in her dorm room. Anything else I guess -- including the old huge tear-away calendar sheets she hung on the venetian blinds on her window -- was considered garbage and thrown away. Shit, My Fucking Father even tore down the closet doors. And then he cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.

It's still not finished. There are some piles of junk there, let alone that huge dresser. But the broom and pan are there. It's awfully empty. And the first time I really set foot in Grandmother's bedroom after My Fucking Father turned it into a dead zone, I didn't notice that the room looks a lot smaller than it did when Grandmother and her stuff were in it. It's kind of freaky.

Nevertheless it still is very, very weird to not have Grandmother living here. Right now I half-expect to hear her light footsteps trundle down the hallway, and to hear her paw at my bedroom door like a cat, asking me for something for the fifth or sixth fucking time that night. But she's not there. I admit to a certain sense of freedom, but it still doesn't feel right. And seeing My Fucking Father clear every single sign that Grandmother ever lived her, despite her body heat not completely dissipating before he started this goddamn overhaul, just goes to show that the main reason they put her in a home wasn't her health but because they just got fucking tired of seeing her around the house day after day.