A little more than two years ago, I woke up in my childhood bedroom for the first time in more than three decades.
I wasn’t home just for a visit. In fact, I wasn’t even back with my parents. At 41 years old, I moved in with my 88-year-old grandmother to take care of her. (I call her Mamaw as any good Texan kid would.)
All along, my family knew that one day the Mamaw would no longer be able to live alone. Since my grandmother refused to give up her own home, I offered to move in.
It made the most sense for me to move in with Mamaw
When I was a kid, Mamaw, Mom, and I lived together in this house. Mamaw became like a secondary parent to me. Over the course of four years, she taught me the joys of old musicals and playing card games that were way too advanced for 7-year-olds.
Now that I’m in my 40s, I’m living with Mamaw again because it makes the most sense. The logistics were a lot easier than my mother uprooting her life and taking on the primary caregiver role.
As someone who is single with no children and no mortgage, it made the most sense for me to move in. Not having to worry about selling a home or uprooting a family to move in with Mamaw made the process relatively seamless — aside from moving all the books.
Thankfully, I’m not doing this alone. My family has concocted its own version of the sandwich generation. A recent layoff made my working situation a little more complicated right as Mamaw needed some extra care. Now, my mom comes over most weekdays to take care of home health visits, appointments, and other caregiving tasks while I work and job hunt.
Living with my grandmother isn’t easy, but there are bright moments
I’m not trying to be a martyr here. Moving in with Mamaw wasn’t some selfless sacrifice for which I expect a pat on the back. I genuinely enjoy her company, and we get along great when she isn’t refusing to eat lunch or using my cat napping in her lap as an excuse not to do her physical therapy.
I’ve introduced her to the wholesomeness that is “The Great British Bake Off “and the brutality of playoff hockey, and heck, she was even strangely fascinated by watching my marathon sessions of “Animal Crossing.”
Don’t get me wrong, though: it’s not always easy. There are doctors’ appointments, home healthcare sessions — all while trying to juggle work meetings, and the ever-present battle to keep her eating and drinking enough.
I’m enjoying the last few years I have left with her
Now at 90 years old, it’s hard to ignore the changes I’ve seen in her health in just these two short years.
Circumstances have put us together time and time again over the years. She’s been there for me more times than I can count, and I’m only too happy that I’m in the situation to be able to return that favor.
Plus, who else is going to watch “Jeopardy” with me every weeknight?
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