This last weekend was one of grandparents. My mom and I are the only family members in town for my maternal grandmother; whereas my paternal grandparents boast several children and a few grandchildren. This means I am notoriously pathetic in visiting my grandma and grandpa on my dad’s side. It’s not right, but there it is.
So, my mom and I set out to visit…
I am happy to report that my grandma is happy as a clam. The woman who has lived her whole life governed by others, finally has something all her own. Mainly, bingo. Seeing her happy, made my heart happy as well. It also made me realize I want to be like her when I’m old – happy and cheery, making friends, having fun, and not at all focused on my age or ailments.
I imagine this means I better start working on it now.
We also visited my grampa, who now resides in a nursing home. Walking the cold hallways reminded me of high school, and the days I walked those very halls. You see, for one fleeting moment I considered the medical profession. One day at the nursing home and I was fairly certain that was not the route for me.
While there I learned more about the human body than I’d care to recall – was followed around by a lady with dementia who wanted to touch the “pretty lady” – and lost one of my charges in the tub. That’s correct. I did … well, we, actually. My partner in crime and I set out to give this little old lady a bath. We sat her down and strapped her in, pushed the button which carried her up – swiveled her legs over the side – and pushed the button again to carry her down.
Piece of cake, we thought. With our good fortune, we decided to add bubbles. I squirted a few in, nothing. So I added another squirt. And another. Still, nothing, so I squirted for all I was worth. When that didn’t work, we gave up and turned on the jets.
You know what’s coming, don’t you – that’s right, bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles. Bubbles that seemed to multiply like rabbits. Oh my! said the girl. GASP! said I. We’ve got to do something, said the girl. Shovel, said I. Which we did, but we couldn’t keep up. Before long, our little old lady completely disappeared from sight! We’ve lost her, said the girl! Shovel faster! said I.
Finally, the jets were silenced, the room was filled with suds, and we could once again see our charge. Much to our surprise we found her laughing and clapping. To us it was a nightmare; to her, a bright spot.
I fear we too often forget the importance of one’s spirit. We see broken bodies, but a broken spirit is far worse. We should do everything within our power – in our own lives and those of others – to to keep our spirits alive.
And finally, a helpful hint. If you’re planning to meet your grandmother for brunch at “the home” … and must leave your small church body during the final song … do not – I repeat – do not walk down the center aisle. Because try as you may to look small and invisible, you’ll glance to the left and see someone you know. Since you don’t have time to chat, you wave. You look to the right, same thing. Before you know it, you’re gliding your way down a walkway, blowing kisses and elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist-wrist-ing your way out of church. The side aisle my friends, it’s the only way to go.
