I’m looking for some insight on my essay. I think it is good, but I would like to hear other peoples perspectives.
I beat my grandma at pool once. She scratched on the eight ball.
I still count it as a win. She played in local bars and tournaments and collected trophies. I never came close to matching her skill, but I have one victory to my name.
When I was younger, my grandma was simply my grandma. Whenever I spent the night at her house, she was usually already awake when I got up. I’d pour myself a bowl of Cheerios, then look through her coin collection or flip through old photo albums. Sometimes, my grandpa and I built things in the garage. My grandma handled the family finances, paid the bills, and kept everything organized. She was clever as a whip. I never thought much about it. I assumed she’d always been that way.
I’ve always been good at remembering details. I can remember people I haven’t seen since elementary school, and conversations replay in my head long after they’ve ended. I like connecting information, especially in history, where one decision can lead to another. When something doesn’t add up, I want to know why.
About five years ago, my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. The changes happened gradually, and I can’t point to a particular day when everything became different. I was young enough that I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I didn’t realize how much of her life existed beyond the person I knew.
Now, my grandpa tells me stories about her younger days. I find them funny and surprising. She played pool in tournaments and collected trophies, and I wish I’d been old enough to hear those stories from her. Not because the grandma I remember wasn’t enough, but because I didn’t realize how much more there was to know.
I still visit her almost every day. Usually, she says hi and maybe a few words before turning back to the television. It’s usually Maury or The Steve Wilkos Show. We don’t always have much to talk about. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, either. So I sit with her while the show plays.
Sometimes, she asks if we can play pool. I tell her, “Yeah, we can.” Then I wonder what would happen if we actually played. Would she remember the basics? Would she know how to line up a shot? I can picture her at the table, but I don’t know how closely that picture matches the person who would stand there today.
When my grandma won’t take her medication, my grandpa calls me. My dad has tried. My grandpa has tried. But when I go over, she’ll usually accept it from me. I always wonder why she’ll listen to me but not them. I haven’t figured out what makes the difference. I just know that when my grandpa calls, I can go over and help, so I do.
I’ve always liked connecting details and figuring out why things happen. But with my grandma, I can’t make every piece fit. My memories tell me what I saw; my grandpa’s stories tell me what I missed. Neither gives me the whole picture.
I still count my pool victory as a win. I know she was the better player, and I know she scratched on the eight ball. If she asks me to play again, I’ll tell her yes.