Bicentennial Summer

After brushing my teeth, I joined her in her room. While I got into my nightgown, she took off her wig and placed it carefully on the white Styrofoam head on her dresser. She took off the little pantyhose cap and placed it next to the head. Her glasses were resting lens-side up on the nightstand. Then she removed her dentures and put them in a little plastic container with water. I opened the package of  Efferdent and dropped the two tablets into the container to bubble and fizz overnight. Next, she removed her bra with the prosthetic breast and put on her little nightgown.

Grandma TeenTeen looked much smaller and frailer when she removed all those parts. Giving me a kiss on the cheek and then pulling the cord on the bedside lamp, she said, “You have a good night, Mare.” But without her teeth, it sounded like “Ooh ’ave a goo’ nigh’, Mare.”

“You have sweet dreams, TeenTeen.” I giggled.

“Twi nah ooh ick me ooh muh is ime,” she gummed. We had done this verbal routine so many times before, I knew she meant, “Try not to kick me too much this time.”

“Try not to snore too loud,” I countered, playing my part in our traditional nighttime exchange. “I love you, TeenTeen.”

“I uv ooh ooh, ’ary. Now o ooh slee.”

I smiled, rolled over, closed my eyes, and did just what she said.