I stayed with one of my older brothers in the house I grew up in. Many changes have been made to it - familiar trees and shrubs are gone. The porch has been enlarged, which is a good thing. Such a small porch it used to be. Much of the inside has been changed of course. At times, I still expected my parents to be there. My dad driving in the driveway now cracked and showing it's age. My mom in the kitchen cooking dinner, so unsure if the dinner she cooked was good or enough. Our dog, Sandy, eagerly waiting his dinner but not daring to step into the kitchen until he was told. My younger brother and I strategizing our escape from dish duty. My older brothers absent as they had moved on in their lives starting their own families.
It is difficult to go home again. To remember the times gone - not all of them with smiles, but not all of them tragedies. My first impression going down the familiar street this time was how short the drive from the corner to the house really was. Walking to the corner to catch the school bus always seemed miles, yet in reality, it wasn't far at all. Even the houses that were once filled with my friends seemed so much closer than they had way back when. Perspective. Everything back then seemed so far away, yet everything was near. I didn't see it then, but I do see it now.
The trip itself was a huge mixture of feelings. It was a celebration of my grandmother's 97th birthday and for 97, she does pretty well. She is a fiercly independent woman who is now dependent on her care givers, a fact she isn't the least bit happy about. It seems somewhat unfair that a woman who was so content and happy in her life, is now living the experience of unhappiness. Gone are the days of dancing and travelling which she loved. Her days now are mostly in a chair, breathing oxygen, waiting for her medications and watching time pass her by. Unbelievably she still has her sense of humor at times, and all the times she still proclaims she is her own best friend. She still does a few dance steps holding onto her walker, the rhythm intact, the belle of the ball. Other residents know her by her name, but call her "The Dancer". What most don't know is that her dancing days began when she retired. It was then she began to dance and also taught others to dance. At 70 years old she was asked to leave a club in Hawaii for refusing to get down from the table she was dancing on. At 82 she danced in her last recital as the headliner encouraging young and old alike to join her in a line dance to the music of the Oakridge Boys. She remembers those times laughing and smiling and enjoyed reminding me that my own rhythm could have used some work.
She told stories of her travels across the United States and her only regret in life was that she had never flown in an airplane in first class. To reach that age with that only regret is quite a lesson for us all. Sitting with her, being with her, remembering with her was a treasure for which I am truly grateful. It is hard to say if there will be another opportunity before she passes. I could sit here and feel guilty that I hadn't gone back sooner than 12 years and also knowing that it was impossible for me to do so. All the negative thoughts could swarm in my head, eating at me with the "what ifs", "should haves" but I know that all of those will take away from the gifts we shared with the time we were able to have now. Even though this time was in a nursing home, we still laughed, we still smiled and the twinkle in her eye was very much alive. Nothing from the past or present will be lost when she passes. That twinkle in her eye will always rival the twinkle of the brightest star - as it was meant to be and as it should be.
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