I fear eating with people the age of my grandmother. I feel like I am disrespecting my elders by watching them struggle to get the spoon up without spilling its payload, or seeing the crumbs catch on the hairs of their chins. Their lips open and close erratically and anything saucy is an uncomfortable scenario. I know this is selfish, and I know that it is not the right thing to think. I’m certainly not claiming any moral high ground with my irrational thoughts. It is a fear of mine, though.
But now when I sit with Ruthie during lunchtime or dinnertime I don’t have to worry about any of that. She doesn’t eat anything. She sits unhappily at the table with her dining friend, another lovely lady named Ruth. But my Ruthie, my grandmother, she doesn’t eat. She just seems to disregard the need for sustenance. She won’t even eat her roll. She might sip on some soup, but she refuses to eat anything substantial. Except chocolate. Man, can she eat a chocolate bar.
At first I was trying to get her to eat more. I even bugged my sister about it. “She won’t do it,” my sister told me. “She has never eat anything unless it was charred black beef or potatoes.” I guess I recognize that. There was a short while after her second hip surgery that she was medicated to eat more. But that medication has been dropped from her daily doses.
Most times I see her in the cafeteria during lunch or dinner. She rolls forward and back in her chair glaring at her plate. “This smells like crap,” she whispers with something between snark and disdain. I usually giggle because I love it when my grandmother doesn’t hide her feelings. She looks up at me surprised that someone is paying attention. Then she laughs and smiles and says, “Well, it does!” These days, usually, she uses emotive faces and expressions more than words.
So I’ll take the “this smells like crap” whenever I can get it.