The last time I saw my grandmother was the last time I saw 2001. It was a few years ago. She was bedridden but living at home with a full-time caregiver. Hospic

The last time I saw my grandmother was the last time I saw 2001. It was a few years ago. She was bedridden but living at home with a full-time caregiver. Hospice care had been initiated. Her bed, a full-size hospital bed, was located in the room that used to be the den. There was a large TV in the room that she spent most the day watching. It was early afternoon. When I walked in, for reasons both mysterious and comical to me, the TV was tuned to a cable channel showing 2001. It was the start of the psychedelic wormhole scene. The room was decorated, as it had been since I was a kid, in a style I'll call organic American kitsch. Her caregiver and my aunt were in the room. My grandmother was half-sleeping. She smiled when she saw me. Then she fell back to sleep. The others left the room. Standing next to her bed, I watched the movie to the end as my grandmother snored lightly beside me. I don't remember if there were commercial breaks. When it was over, I said goodbye to my grandmother and left her sleeping. I still can't figure out who turned on 2001. The caregiver usually turned the channel to Fox News. I think my aunt preferred to turn the TV off. If my dad had been there, it might have made sense. He hadn't. It was a very uncanny experience.