A Life Like This

Some lives impact you in a way that will forever change things. It is a rare person who ages with grace as beautiful as they had in their youth. It's uncommon to allow others to help you in a way that is grateful and not greedy. It's unheard of to be kinder in your weakness than you were in your strength. But that has been my Memaw.

She's loved me regardless and I knew it. When I brought my husband into the family, she accepted him completely. Each child I birthed, she loved unconditionally. Even in the recent years when she stayed with me to give my parents respite, she never once complained about coming. Yet I know it's been hard on her. She misses home but doesn't say it. She always thanks me on the way back for a "wonderful visit".

I say all this to say that when I grow up, I want to be like Memaw. I want my life in youth to be as tender and loving as it is in aging and dying. She is dying now. They say it won't be long. I got to see her last weekend, we sang songs together. She loves music like me.

This week someone who's home-bound said to me, "What's my purpose now?" And I thought of Memaw and how she loved, even when she could give nothing else. That's the greatest purpose of all. There is always someone to love, to thank, to encourage, or to sing with. Memaw did that her whole life; and she didn't stop just because she got old and lost her functions. I guess it's probably obvious, but want to be her when I grow up.

More Posts about Memaw: Memaw's Best Bits,  Stop, Sit and Listen, Creativity Does Extraordinary Things

Stop, Sit and Listen

Memaw's back at my house this week. She sits in her familiar spot reading and resting. This time I knelt down next to her, reading a picture book like I did last time she visited and afterwards, just sat there. I didn't say anything. I didn't rush to get something done. I smiled at her and waited.

She sat quiet for a few minutes, then began to talk. She asked me about some items sitting in the room. "Do you sew on that machine?" she asked. I admitted I haven't sewn much. "Who's coat is that? It's pretty." I explained it was my husband's.

She paused for a long time. Usually, that's my cue to get up. But this time I decided to just wait and see what happened. In a bit, she started talking again. She told me stories of her childhood. Some I'd heard many times and others I didn't remember. I listened. She paused again for a long time, and then just like before, started talking again. She asked me about my kids (in the adjoining room) and my husband; she even inquired after his mother. This interaction went on for over an hour--the longest conversation since I started helping with her. It felt like we were in the past, visiting. Slower, but steady.

She finally did tire and reached for her Bible. But I noticed for the rest of the evening, she wore a faint smile. It reminded me of when I've had an outing with a friend or quality time with my husband; I find myself smiling as I go about my work.

I mulled it over and thought about all those times she's come to my house when I've been busy, in a hurry, or too rushed to wait. Isn't that how we are? We rush, we hurry, we run past things that matter.

As the days have passed, I've continued paying attention. I now see what I missed before. She wants to talk, I just didn't listen long enough. I wasn't giving her the time it takes for her to process. I was rushing a slowed-down mind in my hurry-up world. I'm thankful for her presence to remind me to soak in each moment; to stop, sit and listen.

Creativity Does Extraordinary Things

I have my grandmother this week. She doesn't talk much anymore. But I decided to try some new things this time. I wanted to give her easy projects we could do together. The first day I read her a picture book and it was precious because she laughed. I haven't heard that laugh in so long.

Today I laid out a simple coloring page of a house with mountains. I traced the edges of a window and left the middle for her to color in. She surprised me by copying my actions and tracing lines all over the page. She drew with focus. Then something extraordinary happened, she began to talk. She told me stories. She paused to look me in the eyes and talk. I almost started crying with the joy of it. It was her, for a brief and beautiful moment, she was herself again.

I wondered if all those times she sat knitting, cooking and sewing were pulled together in this moment of creativity. And I couldn't help but think that when her creative juices began to flow, memories and happy thoughts came with them. Perhaps that's why she could suddenly connect the dots and hold onto memories.  I hope so.

I hope you'll try something creative today; see where it takes you!

Memaw's Best Bits

She smiles as I bring her water.  "You okay, Memaw?"

Her answer's always sweet-tempered and the same, "I'm fine."

She doesn't speak much anymore, dementia has taken her thoughts. Seeing her reading takes me back to a small stash of newspapers by the rocking chair in her old house. She'd lick her fingers and thumb through them savoring each word and offering up the best bits for our enjoyment.

Now she wipes her eye and I notice the withered softness of her hands. She used to cook for me with those hands: sourdough bread alongside vegetables from Papaw's garden; molasses cookies sent to my college dorm just when we were running out; white glistening coconut cake presented at Christmas.  But now her hands are hard-pressed to do anything on their own.

At times I've wondered why we have to lose our memory as we age or why our bodies stop working as they once did.

This week Memaw's visiting us to give Mom and Dad a breather. Now I'm the one cooking after her; telling her small stories from the news and giving her vegetables from someone else's garden. I bring her cookies and show her my paintings. I dress her and fix her hair. I pat her hands in comfort the way she used to do with mine.

Maybe the love poured into us as children grows so that one day we're free to give it back.