My Grandmother -grandma- You-re Wet- -final- By... ⇒

If you are reading this and you have a grandmother, call her. Visit her. Tell her you love her. Don't wait until she is lying in a hospital bed, cold and alone, to remember how much she means to you. Because the truth is, we never know which goodbye will be the final one. And the only thing worse than a wet bed sheet is the regret of not being there when it mattered most.

When I was five years old, my parents separated. In the chaos that followed, my grandmother stepped into the breach without a moment's hesitation. She didn't just babysit me; she raised me. She taught me how to tie my shoes, how to whistle, how to tell a hawk from a vulture by the way it flew. She was my anchor in a stormy childhood, and I loved her with a fierceness that only children who have been lost and found can understand. My Grandmother -Grandma- you-re wet- -Final- By...

The doctors called it “urinary incontinence secondary to advanced dementia.” But that afternoon, as I helped her out of her soaked dress and into a warm bath, I learned that medicine has no vocabulary for shame. My grandmother — the woman who had taught me to tie my shoes, who had snuck me dollar bills when my parents weren’t looking, who had sung “You Are My Sunshine” in a voice that could mend broken things — stood trembling in the bathroom’s fluorescent light, apologizing. If you are reading this and you have a grandmother, call her

That was three years ago. I am twenty-two now. I live in an apartment with two roommates and a cactus I keep forgetting to water. But every time it rains, I think of her. Every time I hear the screen door slap shut, I think of her. Every time I pull on latex gloves or change a set of sheets or help a stranger who looks lost in the grocery store, I think of her. Don't wait until she is lying in a