Too much stuff and not enough space

Well, it happened yet again. I foolishly took stuff over to grandma's house with me to do. Paperwork, tatting, schoolwork. I honestly don't know why I bother. I mean it's not like I'm going to ever waste the opportunity to get to hear her talk. One day, that voice will be only a memory trapped in my mind that my ears long to hear again.
The greatest fear I have is not remembering any of it. There's no way I can possibly retain the 92yrs of memories she shares. It's not like my mind is one of those space bags you get that you can seal those precious words away to open up at the exact time you need to hear them again. It is the very definition of too much stuff and not enough space.
Still, after almost 40yrs I find myself learning something new about this woman who has known me all my life. I find new common experiences we've shared decades apart. For instance, we both have periods of our lives that have been blocked from all memory because of traumatic, though very different situations. The feeling of lost time and regret those blocked memories bring are the same though. Listening to her speak is more than just loving her, it's healing for both of us. 
And then there are new tidbits of info I'm finding out. My grandpa did, in fact, go back to school following the war to get his high school diploma. Her grandpa owned the first grocery store at 19th & Heights Blvd where his picture still hangs today. The house I've heard so much about on 3rd Street was moved off the property to Fairbanks & is some sort of historical marker - or was at one point. Stories of family members long gone or cousins barely known to me are as fresh on her memory as if it just happened yesterday.
And still, I know I won't be able to remember it all. I will remember her voice though. I will remember the pain in her words or the light in her eyes as she spoke. I will hold tightly the lessons she teaches from the stories she tells. I will hold tightly to her as long as I can. And I will always remember this time with no regret for the paperwork stayed in the pink polka-dot bag where it belonged, the tatted cross still waits, and the schoolwork will be there tomorrow.

Giving what you just don't have to give

I'm sure that over the next few months, any readers I would have to a blog will grow tired of hearing about daily adventures in my life. I'm honestly rather boring & never feel I have a whole lot to say worth reading. But in this season of my life, there is so much I'm exposed to on a daily basis, I just need to release it somehow. Writing has always been a great therapy for me, next to my favorite coping technique - just sleeping it away. Writing, of course, is far more productive. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Monday night I shared the wonderful image I had been given of my momma dancing with her momma. The truth is, it was out of necessity. Grandma fell Monday morning & was in a lot of pain. Not only did hospice arrange for x-rays to be done at her house, but we got the wonderful news Tuesday morning that nothing was broken! Talk about thankful....!
Yesterday, grandma slept quite a bit, although I have no idea how with all the noise & laughter we were making in her livingroom. Today, overall, went much better than any of us could have hoped. And then it was bedtime.
I had simply gone over there to drop off some butterfly bandages, hours earlier, but stayed because it was quiet. With five kids waiting for me at home, I wanted to just sit & visit a while longer with my aunt & gma. Momma got there around dark & my aunt left a little while after that. That was my intention too, but again, that wasn't what happened.
Getting grandma ready for bed didn't turn out quite as well as the day had. Because of the fall, her equilibrium is way off & she's been battling bouts of nausea. Again, I felt like an active observer to a scene I wasn't ready for.
I watched my momma, a registered nurse, lovingly & skillfully assist her patient, her momma, as the nausea took hold. I stood steadying the chair, running to get a wet washcloth & ginger ale then stood some more. I watched as grandma buried her head in her chest to stabilize herself & tears flowed freely down my momma's stoic face. I closed my eyes for just a moment, determined not to cry again, & whispered a prayer for them both. When I opened my eyes, momma was doing the same thing.
A real sadness & fear grasped me at that moment as I realized I'll never be able to take care of my momma this way. I don't have the training. I don't have the knowledge. I just can't give my momma what she can give. Oh but how I long to. My heart is broken. She deserves so much more.
As I sit here now, attempting to make sense of it all by typing it out, I realize - I'm not supposed to give what my momma can give. I can love like momma loves. I can serve like momma serves. I can cry like momma cries. I will pray like momma prays. And THAT IS enough. The rest will just be details in a day of love.
I know momma isn't Superwoman. And she isn't really giving what she has to give at all. It is a supernatural thing that she gives. The works of her tired hands & feet are powered by something, Someone, beyond human understanding. So if I draw my strength, my knowledge, my training, from that same One, things will turn out just fine. Then, maybe, I too will be able give her what I don't have to give.

And so they danced

I've come to the conclusion that while growing older sucks, it definitely sucks more to watch those you love grow older. I was admittedly taken back two weeks ago when my aunt posted a picture of my grandma from her 90th bday just two years ago. Having the privilege of living next door, I see her often so the physical change two years has had on her body had escaped me somehow. Maybe it's that whole glass is half full thing or maybe it's denial - either way I just hadn't noticed.
By now, word has pretty much gotten around that the dreaded diagnosis of breast cancer once again rocked our family in February, only two years after the nothing short of miraculous hip replacement recovery at 90yrs old. Yet still, through the tears and the inevitable outcome, there has been a joy that could never be expressed through any words I could type. A myriad of emotions have been my best friend as of late but never once have they not been accompanied by that joy thing.
Most of my day today was spent waiting. Waiting on a phone call. Waiting on a text. Waiting to lace up my shoes and come running. Finally, around 5, the phone call came. Mom needed my help.
Sure it was only to sit with grandma for a short time, but it was something I could do. Today was not a good day for grandma so sitting and talking with her while momma ran home to take care of a few things was the least I could do for both of them.
So we talked. She wanted to hear all about the family vacation last week and asked about friends. She reminded me to tell my husband how much I love and appreciate him. (She says that allllllll the time.) We talked about how she was feeling and how very tired she is. The conversation finally steered toward her favorite topic - how much God loves each of us.
Then momma returned after a while. Now I would be able to help physically as we lifted her out of her chair to escort her to her bed. I stepped away a few times, being aware of the great level of humility this caused this giant of a 5' woman in my eyes to suffer. When we finally reached the bed, a scene unfolded that will be seared into my memory forever.
The once firecracker red head in front of me was now leaning on her daughter repeating the words, "Don't drop me. Please don't let me fall." with a fear in her voice I had never heard before. Before I could be overwhelmed by those pesky emotions again, there was a glimpse of something very special happening.
As momma was trying to pivot grandma around to sit on the bed, she leaned her head on momma's shoulder. Blame it on that glass half full thing but what I saw in that moment was not despair and fear; it was a moment in which I got to see my momma dance with her frail 92yr old momma. I heard the promises, "I won't drop you. I'm right here." I stood there, arms open wide, waiting to join their dance, but it was not my turn. There wasn't any music, no fancy ball gowns, not even an audience, but there was a tender dance born from the deepest love that can be given. And I got to watch.
Part of me thinks it would be so easy to just stop looking for things to be thankful for in the middle of this. And admittedly, I did a few moments later when I asked grandma how she was doing and her response was, "I'm here." Alone with her and sitting on her bed, I melted into a puddle of sobbing tears as she laid my head on her chest and I squeaked, "I'm so selfish but this is where I want you to stay." She just held me and whispered in my ear how much she loved me over and over again.
Watching those you love grow older SUCKS! But I'm determined to keep looking for those subtle, hidden moments when a dance breaks outright in front of me. Those are moments of utter gratitude and joy.