They warned us that Grandma K didn’t look good. Her rapid decline in health had caused major weight loss, a weak voice and very little energy. They told us this on the way to her house. They worried that we’d be in shock.
They were right.
It was only four months ago since our last visit with Grandma K. She was up and around tending to her most important (and favorite) duty: making sure that everyone in the room was at least offered a piece of chocolate from a Fredrickson’s. She was still able to button-up her preferred blue plaid shirt and ordered Grandpa K around in his diabetic ways.
When we arrived for this visit she was being moved–via her son-in-law–across the room and into the kitchen for a bird-sized lunch. She was happy to see us, even though she couldn’t smile and her voice could barely make a noise. We were still ordered to sit and have a chocolate. When the box was passed to us it was clearly marked Russell Stover, we looked confused, so someone mentioned that Fredrickson’s was inexplicably not open. We passed on the chocolate.
Grandma K wasn’t the woman I knew. Her silver hair lay flat against her head. Her cheeks were deflated. Her body was reduced to bones. She wore a purple house dress with pearly buttons while underneath her back arched, shoulders hunched. But her eyes were different too.
They were stunning.
When the shock of seeing Grandma K resided I found myself feeling something entirely different. Surprisingly, when I looked at her sipping a Coke, while everyone in the room fussed over her, I was in absolute admiration. There are days were I’d like nothing better than to sit comfortably in my recliner, wearing nothing but a bright-colored house dress and think back on my life. To be in a place where vanity couldn’t find me. To have the same clarity in my eyes. To be more spirit and less body.
Before we left, Grandma asked me to model the black-buttoned dress I was wearing. Dutifully, I sashayed around the room, hands on hips, flipping my head back- and-forth. She clapped her hands in slow motion and offered me another chocolate.
The next day they went to buy Grandma a birthday present while I was off to get my hair colored. They told me they were going to get her a new house dress. For a moment I really wished it was the other way around.
Related posts:
Beautiful! I think I know exactly what you mean.
Although your hair looks fabulous, I sort of understand.
I think it’s in the same vein of my husband (at the ripe old age of 32) being excited for his future lazy days in a rest home…
one of my favorite posts.
Love this - it gave me the chills, actually. When I visited my Grandma in the hospital before she died, I remember so vividly how beautiful and clear her eyes were. It was amazing.
The other way around…that they were buying you a new housecoat and Grandma was getting her hair colored, or that you were the one to go buy her the new housecoat?
beautiful. brings back sweet memories of my dear grams elda.
A lovely, warm post. I can understand, and I think it’s great that you could go and see her and recognize all of this-
Be more spirit and less body…my new motto! Well done!
Chup would never let you have another house dress.
What a beautiful story about your gramma, made me really miss mine. She used to make the yummiest pickle sandwich.
Nice Cjane. You’ve done it again =)
Good stuff.
Yes, very good stuff. I think I want my very own house dress. I mean, I own one–it’s a stretchy maternity dress that’s lost its stretch. But I really want one with pearly buttons–and I want it in Hawaiian print.
“To be in a place where vanity couldn’t find me. To have the same clarity in my eyes. To be more spirit and less body.”
This is my favorite post ever and those are some of those most beautiful and profound words I have ever read.
Thanks Tami.