i'm the rock?

About the time that my Grandma passed away, I should have been driving my Dad to the airport for his flight back to New York. As soon as I could think clearly enough, I told my Dad we had to change his flight before he missed it. He was a mess (understandably) and couldn't wrap his mind around that task just yet. I jumped online and took care of it for him, delaying his return by a few days. My younger brother was scheduled to leave the following morning. In light of the situation, he wanted to change his ticket too, to stay a few days longer. He squeezed my arm gently. "Can you help me with this? I just can't think straight to deal with it right now." Of course. Ten minutes later, he had his new itinerary in hand.

A while later my older brother came over and hugged me. "Would you please help mom with the funeral arrangements and everything over the next few days. I don't know how to do any of that stuff." "I don't either; I don't even live in this country. But of course I'll help her." He looked me in the eye and said, "I could figure it all out if I needed to, but I'm just having a hard time with all this and I know I won't be able to really focus on it." "No problem..."

It was only as I cried in bed that night (or was it the next night?), that I put all those situations together in my mind, and I felt perplexed. I'm the rock?! For about an hour that day, my entire family had cried together. We'd hugged; we'd sobbed. All of us were hurting and broken. I don't know why I was the one they came to---even just for logistical help. Whatever gave them the impression that I'm the rock?!

Maybe it's true that, more often than not, others see in me things that I don't.

surrounded

When we arrived at my grandma’s house Sunday morning, I realized I forgot my sweater at the hotel. I’m always cold in air-conditioning. “Go get a sweater from my room," Gram said. Just like old times, I wore a hug from Gram all day.

After a while, she said she was tired. She got herself comfy on the couch. With her favorite daytime television shows providing easy-listening background noise, she nodded off. We ran out to do some errands.

When we got home a few hours later, Gram was still asleep. I checked on her a few times as we unpacked bags, making sure her chest was rising and falling.

When I came into the living room to check again, she started to open her eyes. “Gram?” She winced a bit and reached out her hand. I sat next to her on the couch, holding her hand in mine and talking to her. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking past me, through me.

Gram mumbled something. I think it was in Italian; I wish I knew what she said. She squeezed my hand. I knew what was happening. Her labored breathing and unfocused eyes seemed to make it evident.

I called my mom, and she gathered the family.

With all of us---her children and grandchildren---surrounding her, Gram was smothered in love. We held her, prayed over her, and thanked her. She mumbled again.

And exhaled one last time.

I held Gram tightly and told her I love her. Amid my sobs, all I could think was, “I wonder what Grandpa said to her. And I wonder what she was saying to him…”

wonder

Sitting around the dining room table, conversation flows as easily as the wine and espresso does. I tell Gram that Niel is taking me to Palermo, Sicily---her hometown---in October for our wedding anniversary. Her face lights up. Her eyes shine; her smile spreads slowly across her face. I wish I could see the slideshow of memories that seems to pass through her mind in that instant. “That trip will be so wonderful! I’m so glad you’re going.”

Naturally, Gram starts reminiscing about life in Palermo. She spent the first thirteen years of her life there (1913-1926) before emigrating to America. Life back then was simple but hard; they didn’t have much, but they were content. As a child, Gram walked a few blocks to the bakery at the end of each day with a pot full of beans or lentils. After the bakery closed, customers could bring in food to cook in the already-hot bread ovens. Gram describes the smell of the bakery, the long walk with the heavy pot (“Thankfully the baker would add the water to the pot, so it wasn't that heavy."), and how their food always tasted better cooked in the bakery.

I've never heard any of this before.

Gram switches gears and talks about Grandpa. He died when I was only three; the memories I have of him are really just memories of the pictures I’ve seen. They met on the bus; Gram dropped her handkerchief and he picked it up for her. She was forty years old when they met and married. The year of their thirtieth wedding anniversary, Grandpa died suddenly. Gram talks a lot about that day. “I can’t believe we went to Canada and he lost his life there.” Grandpa worked for the Brooklyn Navy Yard, which made him exempt from fighting in the war. He enlisted in the Marines anyway. He fought in the infamous Battle of Peleliu, where 1500 Marines (in his division) walked onto the island and only 300 walked off. Grandpa, of course, was one of them. He survived that, but not a weekend in Canada…

“He’s been waiting for me a long time,” Gram says. She looks lost in thought; she stares over our heads. “I wonder what he’ll say to me when he sees me. And I wonder what I’ll say to him.” She sits in silence as she ponders the unfolding scene. Her eyes well up with tears.

Mine do, too---I can’t help it.

now i feel old

"You better come down to Florida and say your goodbyes.” Even though Gram is ninety-five, those words felt like a punch in the gut. We booked tickets, not knowing what to expect when we arrived.

When I saw my grandma three months ago, she was the same as she’s always been. We spent over an hour walking around the grocery store, she made “black coffee” (espresso) old-fashioned style on the stove for her and Niel, she regaled us with stories (old and new), she laughed, and her beautiful smile never left her face.

Last week Gram was treated for extreme dehydration. The doctor told her that her kidneys and heart are beginning to fail; he said he could run some tests to find out what’s wrong with her heart. “I’m old, that’s what’s wrong.” She declined tests; she signed a Do Not Resuscitate order.

When we arrived on Saturday, Gram looked pallid. Pale. Fragile. She needs to use her walker to get around the house; she gets out of breath just talking. It hurts my heart to see her suddenly looking her age. “I never felt old,” she said, "until just a few weeks ago. Now I feel old.” Her ninety-five years caught up with her fast.

She rubbed her hands incessantly. “My fingers are cold, but inside they’re sizzling.” She showed us her swollen feet. “I’ve never had that happen before. After so many years, you’d think I’d have experienced everything by now. At least I’m still experiencing new things, even if it’s swollen feet.” Her attitude, despite her frailty and discomfort, is astounding.

Aside from giving birth to her sons, Gram has never been hospitalized.

That night she was feeling pretty down about suddenly feeling her age. Yet, she was so happy to see all of us. She still talked and laughed, same as always. When my dad teased her, like he usually does, she responded with her typical sarcastic, “Yeah…” She slapped Dad’s arm when he poked fun of her; she was in her element.

Gram said over and over again how wonderful it is to have us all together. Her happiness was visible in her face, in her eyes, in her smile.

She just realized that she is indeed ninety-five. But she’s also fully aware just how rich and full her ninety-five-year life actually is.

explanations (in a french accent)

It's my first July in New York since since I was 13 years old---a very long time ago! It's hot and balmy, but wonderfully splendid to be here. I'm staying with my parents over this next month, and then my hombre is flying back in from South Africa. We'll probably put in a few weeks of ministry travels and then we'll be coming back to New York for me to have surgery to get my tonsils removed (dun dun dun). I'm not sure how I feel about all that yet---let's just back burner those thoughts for the time being.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying time with family, all things Long Island, and an American summer. (It's always been my dream to spend these months in America so that I can avoid winter in South Africa!)

I have a lot of catching up to do... So bear with me!