Reality's Dream

How can you laugh and cry at the same time? How can one person be so different yet still be themselves? How can something seem like a dream but be reality incarnate?
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"Mom, this is Tiffany and Amanda."
"Who?" she said with a tired breath.
"Tiffany and manda," she explained again, just as she had been doing all day.
"Oh! Hi, Tiffy." They touched hands.
"Hi, Grandma. We came to visit you."
"Hi, Grandma. This is manda." We sat near the side of the room.
She talked about things that didn't make sense, all in very tired breaths. She put her arms up to make a gesture but they would fall back down to her side as she lie on the reclined hospital bed.She talked about a sandwich. She said she was hungry. She said she was thristy. Tiff fed her applesauce.
"Where'd it go?" she questioned.
"Where'd what go, grandma?" Tiff asked.
"I keep looking up. I keep looking up to swallow the applesauce. Where'd it go?"
"I think you swallowed it, grandma."
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Although I had made a promise that I would "be strong" and not cry while I was in the room, I realized I had broken it as the tears rolled down my face. It was hard to see my grandma so....out of it.....so not herself. But then she would smile and all of that would go away. She would make some comment that would remind me of sitting by a fire cuddled in a blanket at her house. It's a warm feeling. But then I would remember that we were in hospital and she hadn't been doing very well.
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"I had a terrible dream," she started. She repeated, "I had a terrible dream."
"What was it about, grandma?" Tiff questioned.
"Well, a dream." She seemed to think that this explanation was sufficient. Tiff asked her again and she continued.
"I dreamed I was in a hospital. I was in a hospital and I couldn't get out. They wouldn't let me out. No one would help me out." She kept repeating it: "...wouldn't let me out...no one would help me out.....I couldn't get out of the hospital."
With this we all weren't sure whether it was a dream to her; but this dream was in fact, reality.
"They'll let you go when you get better. If they let you go now, then they can't give you medicine. When you're better, they'll let you go home, Mom. Ok?" my mom explained, with that comfort in her voice.
"That's what was terrible. I thought it was home but it was a hospital and they wouldn't let me go," she continued.
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Tiff and Gabriel left. It was only my mom and I left in the room. My mom soon decided that she wanted to use the restroom, which would mean that I would be left alone with my grandma.I was honestly afraid of staying alone with my grandma. She just wasn't herself...for the most part. (It did seem that the longer we were there, the more like herself she became. I'd like to think that we're the only medicine she needs...) What if something went wrong? I surely wouldn't be able to deal with it. Would I be able to perform under that pressure?
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"Mom, I'm going to the restroom but manda's here. She's gonna stay with you. I'll be right back, ok?" my mom said.
"Ok," my grandma replied. She looked over at me. I had just moved to the chair right beside her bed.
She sat for a minute. And then, in her usual way of saying things(as if she were perfectly fine and normal), she said, "So, you're gonna stay with me?" she smiled.
"Yeah. That's right, grandma. I'm going to stay with you for a little while," I reassured her.....and myself.
"Well, that's nice."
"Yeah, I'm going to keep you company because it can get boring here, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's boring here......boring.....it's boring..." and then she faded off into somebody I don't know.
She kept doing this the whole time: she was "herself", then somebody else. It killed me, it really did.
She fidgeted with her arms like something was bothering them. Then she murmured some comment about her not being able to find it.
"What are you looking for, grandma?"
She was trying to explain to me the feeling of when your arms have just been sitting for a while. She was trying to find the word to describe that feeling.
"I just can't think of the word," she finally gave up.
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An EKG tech came into the room. He was talking about this and that. My grandma piped up: "This is my granddaughter." She said it so proud-like. And I was proud of her. I knew her.
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My mom came back and stood near the side of the bed.
"I'm back, mom."
"Hi." She paused for a little while then spoke again. "How are you supposed to drive with a rubber band on your hand like that?"
"Yeah, it would be difficult to drive with a rubber band on your hand," I replied. I had no clue what she was talking about. I didn't know her. I wanted to cry again.
My mom and I eventually discovered that the hospital bandage on her wrist was bothering her. But how she came up with the rubber band and driving we don't know. We don't know how she came up with half of the things she said.
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But in her own defense: My uncle called while we were there. My mom was talking to my uncle on the phone explaining how she was doing and such. "She's not her normal self. She's not thinking very clearly....." My grandma, over-hearing this, piped up: "I'm thinking clearly.....I'm thinking clearly.....thinking clearly..." I knew her.
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We said our goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows....if this was indeed reality and not just "a terrible dream."
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I cried and laughed at the same time. I laughed because what she was saying didn't make sense and was indeed entirely funny. I cried because this wasn't the person I knew. I laughed.....I cried.I knew this was reality: my being at the hospital, visiting my grandma who wasn't entirely there. My grandma was herself but also something entirely different. I knew her one moment; I didn't know her the next. I wanted it to be a dream, just like my grandma thought she had.
Maybe I'm just not thinking clearly.