Things change
With every passing year Grandma gets older
I play games in my head pretending to be real and mature
Her arthritis "develops"-
as if it's some preteen girl's breasts.
I know she can't do as much as before and
each day is one step closer to
death.
I'm here to help.
and all she can do is ask what she will do when I leave.

She calls Grandpa at the nursing home miles away-
he's confused and his Parkinson's develops-
like Grandma's arthritis.
I drive his car to work, to church, to the library, to run errands.
And it's still his- we're very careful not to call it mine;
It's either "the car" or "Larry's car"
We know he won't ever drive it again,
but we're pretending everything's okay.
It's so addicting, refusing to be fake,
yet not facing reality.