Somewhere in Missouri
"Tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo."

I heard a funny whistle and I couldn't tell where it was coming from. I was sitting in a plastic-covered easy chair at the end of a hall. My grandmother was somewhere at the other end having her diaper changed, an indignity she would be horrified to realize if she could.

"Tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo."

Several elderly women were walked or wheeled by aides past me on their way to the jazz performance in the recreation room, the day's entertainment. As each passed I gave them the biggest smile I could, and most of the faces lit up. Some didn't.

"Tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo, tse-tsooo."

Mom joined me in the opposite chair. She heard the whistle too. It was making us both giggle. And I needed the giggle. I find the nursing home depressing and awkward. Mom got up and found what room the whistle was coming from.

"I think it's the way that man in there is breathing."
"Oh. That can't be good."

The whistle wasn't quite as funny anymore.

Finally Dad wheeled Grandma toward us.

"Happy birthday, Grandma!" I said and gave her, my only living grandparent, a kiss. I saw no recognition in her green eyes. My eyes are green too. She didn't recognize me when I saw her at Thanksgiving either, but I thought there might be a chance she'd remember me this time. She didn't, though.

We all headed outside to the courtyard. It was warm and humid outside, which was quite a change from the cool dry A/C inside. We wheeled Grandma toward the middle of the yard, an area with chairs and benches, surounded with trees and landscaping.

Grandma slouched in the wheelchair as we posed around her for pictures. She didn't have much to say, and even when she did speak, we didn't quite catch what it was. Mom read aloud a birthday card Grandma had gotten from her brother in New York. Her eyesight is almost completely gone and she couldn't read it herself.

A round black-haired, brown-skinned woman appeared at the other end of the courtyard. She wore glasses and white clothes.

"Hello!" my dad shouted and waved to her. She smiled and walked our way. "It's so good to see you for this birthday," Dad said.

"Whose birthday is it?" she said loudly, so Grandma could hear her. This must be Freddie, I thought. Mom told me about her.

We all pointed toward Grandma.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday," she said, turning all her attention to Grandma. "How old are you?"

She couldn't answer herself, so we told her she was 92. Freddie started to sing a funny version of Happy Birthday and danced around a bit. Grandma tilted her head back and smiled. She moved her head back and forth to Freddie's song. Mom, Dad and I watched.

A few fat tears fell from my eyes. It was so great to see Gradma smile, but it was a little sad that we couldn't be the ones to bring her that smile. But I'm glad Freddie, someone she sees often, can. I think smiles are what she should be living for now.

We said goodbye to Freddie, and figured it was time to get going ourselves. We wheeled Grandma to the recreation room, where a jolly man behind a piano was playing music to an audience of blank faces, a sea of wheelchairs, almost all women. We faced Grandma toward the musician. I gave her a kiss and said goodbye.

Happy birthday, Grandma. I love you.

* Happy Memorial Day everyone

* I'll be back in NYC tomorrow! Hooray! It's been a lovely vacation in my hometown, but I'm ready to jump back into the hustle and bustle I love so much.