On the way to my cousin’s wedding last spring, my grandmother sat in the front seat, and Rob, my stepmother and I sat in the back. I think there was some concern that Grandma wasn’t always altogether with it, but she was never anything but lucid and sharp when I spoke to her.
She interrupted a lull in conversation to say, “But they don’t have Zits or Baby Blues.”
The rest of us were silent, wondering, “Is this it? Has she lost it?”
I think it was my dad who finally said, “What?”
“Zits or Baby Blues,” my grandmother said.
We had been talking about the relative merits of the Los Angeles Times versus the San Diego Union-Tribune, and Grandma had made a perfectly coherent statement about her comic strip preferences.
And that’s why I think of her whenever I read the funnies. I like the idea that my 94-year-old grandmother read those strips.
Kinda like on Friday, when Rob’s grandma said she used to watch Oprah, but she doesn’t like how people write in just because they want stuff. Like they don’t know how to clean their houses.
“I never needed any help cleaning my house,” she said.
She started watching CSI instead.
Last night, Rob and his sister and I sat with her while Rob’s mom went home for a bit. Grandma hasn’t woken up since Sunday, but we watched Oprah with her.