Guest Writer: A Night In Her Shoes

Hello, my name is Shelby. This is my mom’s blog. She asked if I would write about when I stayed with my great grandma last week, and I agreed. I stayed Friday night, and as soon as I got there Grandma asked who I was. She remembers people who are often there, such as my mother and my grandpa (her son).  She usually thinks she hasn’t seen me since I was a toddler. She did last Friday, and I simply told her I see her every other weekend, if not every weekend. With Grandma, if you are “that girl” , as I am, then at least you are remembered somewhat. 

Anyway, Grandma felt somewhat unsafe when it was just her and me. We barricaded each door, and closed every window. Grandma never uses her lights, so by six o’clock it was already pretty dark. We chatted for a while, when she suddenly got up and went to her bedroom. I followed. Grandma had about every pair of shoes she owned in her hands, with a very determined look on her face. Obviously I asked what was up.

I’ve always wondered who this mystery man was. She says he will steal her shoes if she does not hide her shoes, and this starts our little quest to hide the shoes in unbelievable places.

We hid them in the kitchen beneath cabinets, in pots and pans, and even with the silverware. Then Grandma made me crawl beneath a chair and stick a pair between the wall and her bookshelf. I’m happy to help Grandma. She entertains me, telling me stories of her sisters, as I crawl throughout the house hiding shoes where she wants me to.

When we’re done, I go to the bedroom I sleep in, and start reading. Grandma comes in and tells me I should sleep with her, since I’m so young and all. I told her no, that I’m fine, and that we’re pretty safe if she keeps the doors locked. Grandma wasn’t convinced. We argued for at least five minutes on whether this “mystery man” would be able to come inside the house. Eventually I just told her that the security cameras will alert my Pawpaw (her son) and he would call the police. She immediately calmed when I said the police, as if they were the answer to all her problems. 

Grandma came to my bedroom once more that evening, with the silverware, noticed I wasn’t Ellis, then left. I just laughed it off and eventually slept peacefully.

The next day was a boring one. I was just lounging around until I would be able to go to Grandmas again. When I came over, we hid her teeth. Its important, I think, because Grandma doesn’t remember where she hides things.

For example, her shoes. 

Grandma told me the mystery man came in and stole her shoes, then hid them all over the house. I’m beginning to think that the mystery man is simply Grandma. So I start crawling all over the place collecting shoes while Grandma once again entertains me with the same stories about her sisters. 

It’s kind of heartbreaking, her memory. She thinks that her husband is still alive half the time, and you have to see her realize it as if it is the first time when someone tells her. But my mom once told me you have to laugh or cry over it all. Thats probably what her blog is about- those moments when you can smile with an “Oh grandma..” and love her for whatever state of mind she’s in. Grandma showed me a picture Saturday of herself as a young lady. I told her she looked very pretty. Grandma then smiled with all of her denture teeth, and it was worth seeing her face brighten so much. 

Five minutes later, she shows me the same picture.