I’m traveling to Nashville this weekend to visit my grandparents and my aunt, uncle and cousins.
Long-time readers may recall that my grandparents used to live in Mississippi. Due to Grandma’s failing health and Grandpa’s memory loss, they’ve relocated to an assisted living facility near my aunt’s house.
Since then Grandpa has taken to driving aimlessly around the city, calling my dad by his cousin’s name, and waking at midday and thinking it’s morning. The doctors suspect Alzheimer’s.
Is it terrible to hope he won’t remember that my father and I are estranged?
The alternative is to have the same conversation about it, over and over again — like in Groundhog Day, except I shoot myself at the end.
But Nashville’s a great town, and my aunt and her family are the only sane people with whom I share genes. (While my sister and I can fake it sometimes, we’ve both got more than our fair share of crazy.)
On Monday night (assuming the Groundhog Day scenario doesn’t unfold) I read at 7 p.m., at the bi-monthly Swink reading at Pianos, with Andrew Foster Altschul and Anthony Tognazzini. I’m told the reading will start on time.
The fabulous Stephany Aulenback takes over tomorrow and every Friday.
Have a good weekend.