is a moment of silence and then she answers, “No.”
Now I’m the one who’s flustered. Mom must have re-entered the room and grandma is being evasive. I try again. “Is that who I’m supposed to find?”
I feel like I’m in the Abbott and Costello routine “Who’s on First?”. I figure these questions are going to have to be answered in person. I tell my grandmother that I will stop by this evening and I’ll bring something for dinner.
I figure I’ll go through the documents more deliberately since I have some time now. Though I’m a researcher by trade, the format of the genealogical data is unfamiliar to me. Therefore I have to go through the papers slowly.
Some of the documents are in Polish, others in Russian and yet others in German. The style of writing is unfamiliar and sometimes it’s in an antiquated script that is hard to decipher.
There are index lists of marriages, births and deaths, pretty straightforward. Some old records are in not lists but prose. The Napoleonic format goes something like this: So and so appeared before me this such and such date and reported the birth of the child…so and so.
Sometimes documents include various other facts, genealogical gems, like the names of parents, their ages, the work they did, sometimes the towns they were from or the fact that they were continuing residents of such and such a town. Sometimes they reported a death and the cause of death. On occasion they listed witnesses to a birth or marriage or death and the named persons were identified as various relatives.
The terms they used aren’t modern terms and the on-line translation programs I use are often only minimally informative. I looked up one term, ”apopleksja.” The j is pronounced like a y. The word is pretty similar in English, actually. Apoplexy is an old term for a stroke.
I see family names that aren’t familiar to me and see that the possible spellings of a given name have a great many variations. I found Isaac spelled in at least a half dozen other ways: Itzhak, Ick, Icek, Izaac, Ytzik and Izak.
Rarely does every document for a given person use the same name. There is one American document for a Matt who is apparently the same man as Mathew, Matthias and Mieczyslaw.
I realize I’m going to have to learn about these things and hope that Mr. Walenski is up to the job of educating me.
My brain needs a rest and I flip on the TV for something mindless to watch, not hard to do, and I quickly doze off for a bit.
When I wake, I realize that it’s time to head to grandma’s house. I stop at Gelson’s Market to pick up a few things that I think Grandma will like and head out.
I have my list of questions. I’m annoyed that I have to use subterfuge with my family. It complicates things. I don’t lie very well. My face always gives me away. I’d be terrible at poker.
As I arrive, I see an unfamiliar car in the driveway. It turns out that it belongs to the woman who is staying with grandma each night. I hope I brought enough food.
It happens not to be no problem as grandma is already eating her dinner. As I place the items from Gelson’s on the table, grandma asks, “What’s that?”
“Don’t you remember? I said I’d bring a bite to eat. It’s no problem, you can have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”
I take out just enough of the Chinese chicken salad for me and plate it, and then sit down and join grandma. I ask the woman, whose name is Linda, if she’ll join us. She declines and tells me she’s already eaten, then goes to the living room and busies herself with something or other.
I start with some small talk and ask how her check up went. She’s vague so I pry a little. She said the blood pressure was not so good and shows me a vial of new pills the doctor prescribed. I’m not familiar with the name of the medication and make a mental note to look it up.
I ask how she feels and it’s the same “fine, fine” I usually get from her.
Then I offer to make some tea and go about it as I ask grandma about the picture.
“Yes, the picture” she says.
“So, do you know who the people are?” She answers, ”Yes”.
I wait for more.
“Mr. Walenski knows all about the papers and the picture. The people in it are probably dead by now, but I hope someone is still left from the family. It’s very important to me that someone be left. It’s my doing, you see.”
I see the agitation in her face, and I’m concerned. I suggest that with her medical problems, maybe this isn’t the time for me to be gone.
That upsets her even more. “I’ve already waited too long, don’t you see? I want you to go no matter what, you hear? If something happens to me, you have to finish it. I’ll rest easier.”
“Grandma, what are you talking about, rest easier? Did the doctor say something?”
She shushes me and says, “Eat your dinner and then let me have a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”
I’m no longer comfortable with asking her more questions. All I can think of is, just how bad is it? I cut short the visit and decide to call my mother as soon as I can. She took grandma to the doctor. Maybe she knows something.
I get her voice-mail and leave a message asking her to call me back on my cell phone if I’m not at home.
I start the car and my mind is abuzz with questions and worry. My phone rings but I can tell from the identifying ring tone that it’s not my mother, so I ignore it. It can wait. I’m almost home when the phone rings again. This time it’s her. I pull over and answer the call.
“Mom, I just left grandma’s house and I’m worried about her. Did the doctor say anything to you about her condition? I saw that he gave her a new prescription. “Did you go in with her when she saw the doctor?”
Mom’s response is a little testy. “She’s an adult, of course I didn’t go in with her!”
“Grandma seemed a little forgetful tonight. Have you noticed anything like that lately?”
She sighs and says, “She’s eighty years old, Clara. What do you expect?”
“So she has been forgetful for a while then? It’s not just since the hospitalization?”
Mom is a bit agitated and seems unsure. “I don’t know, maybe a little more than usual”, she answers.
“Mom, when you take her for her next check up, I think you should speak to the doctor about the forgetfulness. Maybe it’s related to the stent. I think you should talk to him. Just because she’s eighty, it doesn’t mean it couldn’t be something else beside her age, and please let me know what he says.”
“A fine time for you to go gallivanting around the world!” my mother accuses.
That pretty much matches my own thoughts so I don’t reply. I try to comfort my mother with, “It’s probably nothing.” I end the conversation and pull back into traffic and head for home.
Grandma’s
