Lunch at Ryans

My grandfather retired from work years ago but not from going to town, the town in question being Huntsville. For an elderly couple that didn't spend any money, they went shopping a lot, mostly at Big Lots and similar stores and the all mighty Goodwill store where my grandfather satisfies his unique fetish of buying old, mostly useless, consumer grade film cameras. $2 purchases that he justifies by claiming that the batteries themselves cost at least $6 but that story is for another time.

My grandmother suffered from a form of dementia the last few years of her life. I'm not sure that she recognized me nor my mother at all but my grandfather seemed to take it in stride. She had some interesting hallucinations and once had the garbage man call the police but was mostly a very happy confused person. Her condition didn't slow down the trips to town. It may even have inspired more of them as my grandfather tried to keep her mind occupied and perhaps distract himself from the situation.

For years, my grandparents met my uncle at Ryans every Wednesday for lunch. I tried my best to see them any chance I got and lunch at Ryans seemed to be the only time besides holidays. Occasionally, I made it over there to meet them promptly at 11:00 AM, the offical time for lunch in the Kilpatrick family. I heard my grandmother's voice for the last time at Ryans.

She was smiling and happily speaking to everyone around her. I'm sure the regulars there knew of her condition. She was happy to see me and always mentioned how long it had been, sometimes months but often years by her time table. She believed that they traveled between two houses, their little home in Gurley of more than forty years and what we believed was her parent's home which might have seemed normal to others until she wondered aloud how her cats made their way between the houses, concerned about their travels. My uncle told her not to worry. They went cross country and avoided the roads. She laughed and seemed satisfied with that explanation.

My grandfather couldn't wake her from her nap that Friday night. A stroke had robbed her of her voice, and after hanging on for a few weeks, her life. I miss my grandmother. I hurt for my grandfather.