Physically, she was still in great shape. She was only seventy, still driving, keeping her own house, tending her garden. But she repeated herself all the time and forgot how to do simple things like turn on the oven. She got lost more than once while running errands, calling my mother and saying alarming things like, “Honey, where am I supposed to be right now?” She never got nasty and antagonistic, which was a blessing, but instead slowly slipped into another reality that had less and less to do with our own. Mom and Dad moved her into Tall Oaks about two years later and though at first she didn’t like it and kept trying to leave, she eventually grew used to the place and I could tell she felt safe there. That was the most important thing. Tall Oaks is a ritzy place as far as retirement homes go. The residents range from the super wealthy to the comfortably middle class—Nana was decidedly of the latter group. The rooms are large and can accommodate the residents’ own furniture, so they feel as much at home as possible.
