April 18, 2014
As with conflict, pain creates a clouded state of mind. Somehow, posts 990 and 991 were published on Wednesday. As I don't know how it came to be that both were published on the same day, let's chalk it up to my weary state of mind. I thought to mention that mistake in case you missed reading one or the other, which might present a problem in terms of continuity. And having clarified that, let's refocus our attention toward my surrealistic visit with Grandma Bailey.
Circa 1977
By this time, I was a mother of three, so five of us walked into the day room, looking for Grandma. Well, actually, four of us walked in, David, being less than a year old, had been a babe in arms. As we approached the chair in which Grandma sat near the window overlooking the park, she must have sensed our presence, because her head turned from gazing at the landscape below to face the five of us. As always, her eyes lit up, and her smile warmed my heart. After enjoying our hugs and kisses, Grandma's mind offered up only gibberish, as had been the case over these past few years. As always, when this happened, chills ran down my spine, as though Grandma was with us but, somehow, not ...
Upon taking a seat next to Grandma, I introduced David as her newest great-grandchild, and I could swear that the light in her eyes intensified even more, as though conveying the depth of her joy, just as had been true, every time she and I had ever spent time, together. In fact, thinking back over my life, I can't remember Grandma ever offering me any expression other than joy.
Each time I'd visited Grandma in the nursing home, my heart constricted and a strange heaviness filled my head as I'd silently questioned what may have been taking place inside her mind. I wondered if she'd felt lonely, forgotten and unloved. The fact that Grandma's smile conveyed joy made me believe that she'd recognized Dad and me and perhaps, Barry and Steven, but there was no way to be sure of that, because no matter what we'd said, all we'd hear in return was more gibberish. No nodding yes or shaking her head no. No facial expressions, other than the consistency of her smile, and as her smile had shone from within, I believed Grandma's heart had felt and returned the depth of our love.
With no clue as to whether Grandma could understand one word that we'd said, I'd fill her in on whatever had been new in our lives … just in case she'd had any connection to comprehension, at all. Needless to say, that only took a few minutes.
Soon after that, Barry and Steven got restless and being six and eight, they'd begun wrestling around. In hopes of settling my sons down, my attention turned toward them. As for Dad, he'd occupied himself by playing with David, who'd laughed at Dad's antics and gurgled happily away.
When, much to David's delight, Dad began to throw him up into the air, the two of them captured everyone's attention, including Grandma's. As each throw was a bit higher than the last, David chortled with excitement while, Barry, Steven and I laughed … though in truth, discomfort had begun to filter into my laugh as intuition surmised, enough was enough.
The last time Dad threw David a bit too high, instinct, which had spoken to me must have spoken to Grandma, because her body stiffened as her voice rang out, clear as a bell:
Jack! The baby! Stop!
As with conflict, pain creates a clouded state of mind. Somehow, posts 990 and 991 were published on Wednesday. As I don't know how it came to be that both were published on the same day, let's chalk it up to my weary state of mind. I thought to mention that mistake in case you missed reading one or the other, which might present a problem in terms of continuity. And having clarified that, let's refocus our attention toward my surrealistic visit with Grandma Bailey.
Circa 1977
By this time, I was a mother of three, so five of us walked into the day room, looking for Grandma. Well, actually, four of us walked in, David, being less than a year old, had been a babe in arms. As we approached the chair in which Grandma sat near the window overlooking the park, she must have sensed our presence, because her head turned from gazing at the landscape below to face the five of us. As always, her eyes lit up, and her smile warmed my heart. After enjoying our hugs and kisses, Grandma's mind offered up only gibberish, as had been the case over these past few years. As always, when this happened, chills ran down my spine, as though Grandma was with us but, somehow, not ...
Upon taking a seat next to Grandma, I introduced David as her newest great-grandchild, and I could swear that the light in her eyes intensified even more, as though conveying the depth of her joy, just as had been true, every time she and I had ever spent time, together. In fact, thinking back over my life, I can't remember Grandma ever offering me any expression other than joy.
Each time I'd visited Grandma in the nursing home, my heart constricted and a strange heaviness filled my head as I'd silently questioned what may have been taking place inside her mind. I wondered if she'd felt lonely, forgotten and unloved. The fact that Grandma's smile conveyed joy made me believe that she'd recognized Dad and me and perhaps, Barry and Steven, but there was no way to be sure of that, because no matter what we'd said, all we'd hear in return was more gibberish. No nodding yes or shaking her head no. No facial expressions, other than the consistency of her smile, and as her smile had shone from within, I believed Grandma's heart had felt and returned the depth of our love.
With no clue as to whether Grandma could understand one word that we'd said, I'd fill her in on whatever had been new in our lives … just in case she'd had any connection to comprehension, at all. Needless to say, that only took a few minutes.
Soon after that, Barry and Steven got restless and being six and eight, they'd begun wrestling around. In hopes of settling my sons down, my attention turned toward them. As for Dad, he'd occupied himself by playing with David, who'd laughed at Dad's antics and gurgled happily away.
When, much to David's delight, Dad began to throw him up into the air, the two of them captured everyone's attention, including Grandma's. As each throw was a bit higher than the last, David chortled with excitement while, Barry, Steven and I laughed … though in truth, discomfort had begun to filter into my laugh as intuition surmised, enough was enough.
The last time Dad threw David a bit too high, instinct, which had spoken to me must have spoken to Grandma, because her body stiffened as her voice rang out, clear as a bell:
Jack! The baby! Stop!
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