Room 9

Room 9 at Alton Villas

Nanna and I

My Nanna is 89 years old.

She always says, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness”.

My Nanna believes in routine: a cup of tea twice in the morning, and twice in the afternoon.

She always says, “its not about how much you have and getting more, it’s about taking care of the things you already own that’s important.”

My Nanna is a gracious host. A home cooked meal and a cup of tea are part of an ideal afternoon with friends.

She always writes letters to her grandkids no matter where we are in the world. Not just on our birthdays, but every few weeks, just to tell us how the weather is in Ipswich – or how the other cousins are – or what she’s cooking for supper. She’s a communicator.

Nanna is warm and affectionate.

Two years ago my Nanna lost her independence. She was finding it difficult to keep up her modest home. She was prone to falling over.

That’s when she moved to her room. One room. Room 9. “Mrs Anne Adams” slotted into the name placard on the door. A room in Alton Lodge – Cooranbong.

A garden view. But a locked door.

A bathroom attached, but no bath.

A table and chairs, but no friends to drink a cuppa.

A smattering of pictures of life in the 1930’s, 2010’s and every decade in between.

My favorite: Nanna – Miss Anne Brown, 21 years old. Bold blue eyes, smooth skin and a twinkling smile that must have had all the blokes at the country ball begging for a dance.

I enter the room. Room 9. I’m back from Africa and longing for a visit with my Nan. This year, there’s a crash mat on the floor. Her bed is lowered and she can’t walk anymore. She’s lying in the bed when I enter.

“Is that you Sharlene?”

“Yes Nanna, I’m here to visit you, I’m so glad you don’t have shingles this year. I’ll bring the boys to see you tomorrow.”

We shoot the breeze a little. Then, sensing Nanna is frustrated with her new immobility, I assert, “It must be hard Nanna. Being in here all day and nowhere to go?”

“Darling – what’s hard is – finding a place to tie up my horse…”

(ok Shar, just go with it…) “Nanna – what color were your horses that you used to ride to school?”

“I had a brown one, a black one and a white one” she reflects…

We talk a little more about the past and I think she is quite rational as we laugh about the Christmas that was so hot, we all ended up in one bedroom under the only air conditioner in the house.

Then Nanna says, “I had kangaroo for breakfast! I should have saved you some.”

“Oh don’t worry Nan” (relieved she didn’t save me whatever they served her that looked like kangaroo…)

When Deanne came with me one day Nanna asked her “where is your little girl?”

Having had no children my sister replied, “Remember Nanna – I haven’t got any children”

Sounding shocked Nanna inquired, “Did she die?”

“No Nan – remember I don’t have a little girl….”

With a humph she replied, “What? Did you give her away….?” And turned her head towards the wall in disgust.

“Nan – let’s talk about Poppy and the Gemini shall we?” changing the subject was the only way to get around the ‘mysterious disappearance of Deanne’s little girl…’

“I’ll get up in a moment Shar and I’ll make you a cup of tea. If you chop those tomatoes, our beef stew will be ready. Oh dear – I haven’t even got dressed today and I’m expecting company!” Nanna moans as she looks down at her flannel nightie.

“Nanna – don’t worry about tea, or your nightie. Remember you’re now in a care home and you don’t have to fix food? I know it must be hard….” I squeeze her hand.

“Darling – the only thing hard about it is finding a place to tie up my horse!”

I went to see Nanna almost every day while in Australia. Today, I said goodbye. I said, “I hope to see you next year when you’re 90!” Nanna said, “I would love to be young again dear, I would love to have more life to breathe.” I always thought Nanna would have a peace about dying. But she is conflicted.

When she moved to her room, I pondered, “Nanna didn’t move here to live – she moved here to die.” Now, her body has failed her. She is skin and bones in the literal sense. She hasn’t walked in months. She is quite simply – ‘waiting to die’.

As I kiss her wrinkled cheeks, I glance over at the pictures of Nanna’s memories. Anne with her first husband (my Dad’s father who died when Dad was 4), Anne with her family gathered around the dining room table on Christmas day, Anne’s two surviving children (my dad and Aunty, Anne’s first baby died at 10 days of age) Anne and her second husband, Anne the young lady who rode horses and played guitar.

Immortality is a hard pill to swallow. Feeling young but growing old. Longing for more time but knowing time is running out.

As for me, I now hope I don’t see Nanna next year. Because it would mean she has spent another year in one room. It would mean she spent another year drinking gel water, and eating the same soup and sandwiches for dinner (or perhaps they will add wombat and koala to the menu alongside the kangaroo…)  It would mean she spent another year wending in and out of lucidity.

As for me, I’ve made a plan with my girlfriends. We’re going to descend on Alton Villas when we're in our 90’s and party in each other’s rooms every day. We’ll tie up our horses in the carpark, eat Kangaroo steak for breakfast, dance in our flannel jammies, drink tea with gel (so we don’t choke on it), and find all the little children who have gone missing.

Giddy up! 

Anne Brown, 21 years old

Anne and my Dad's father, Leslie de Berg

My dad, Kevin and my Aunty, Charmaine

Visiting Nanna in Room 9

My Dad and my Nanna

Matthew 28:20 "I am with you always, to the very end of the age."