The Child Inside

"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been." ~ Madeleine L'Engle

"Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul." ~ Samuel Ullman

***

Sunday was a very long day. I took the train down, and my parents drove me to the rest home where my grandmother is. I tried to remember the nice things you told me from my last post, but it was difficult.

I think what scares me most about the idea of getting old is that I'll lose my mind someday. When we arrived, my grandma was in a panic that she had had a bad dream and someone had come into her room at night and stolen a shirt from her closet, a sweatshirt with kittens on it. She was fairly beside herself and it was almost impossible to understand what she was saying. But my grandma kept going on and on about it, making herself so upset and putting herself on the brink of tears. I finally had to say to her, Grandma, you have lots of clothes at home. We can bring you another shirt. Please. Stop making yourself so upset about it. This isn't helping you at all.

And with that, she stopped entirely. Even the teary eyes dried. My mother opened her closet to see that actually a shirt was missing, and she spoke with the nurse to make sure that no one comes in to do the laundry, that my mother will take care of it instead.

The thing is, this is how my grandma's always been but now it seems so much harder to watch because she is so frail and sick. It takes a little nothing to upset her and she'll dwell on that thing forever. I felt terrible that we had all come to see her, with dim sum from the lunch we just had, and presents to share--and none of that made a difference at all.

***

Later, after she'd calmed down, she showed me that she's started writing down her life's story. My mother has been asking her to do this for years, and she's finally begun. On eight pages of yellow lined paper, her handwriting so shaky now compared to the perfect penmanship I remember from birthday cards not so long ago, I read the first two lines to myself. "Read it aloud," Grandma says. But I don't want to. It's sad enough already. I see Little Helen writing these words: "I was born in Brownsville, Brooklyn in June of 1918. My parents were so young and beautiful when they had me. I miss them terribly."

Right then it struck me so hard, that at 90 years old a person can still miss her parents as if she were a 6-year old orphan. What I think she misses most is the idea of them, because from what I know of her childhood, it was not a happy one in any way. But somewhere in her mind there is a happy and sunny idyll, where these beautiful parents still live, and wait for her.

***

Outside my grandma's door was another resident who was sitting quietly in her wheelchair, silently wrapping and unwrapping the stuffed animal she had on her lap in a little blanket. She looked in at us often, to see if we were looking at her with her toy. My mom said this lady is often asking passersby if anyone has seen her cat. Whatever kitty she is looking for is lost to time and place, but in her mind is still very much alive, and very much needing a home.

***

My mother asked me to come back to Grandma's house. To look at some of her things now, maybe take a few, just in case, preparing for that time in the future. I walked through her home, now so quiet, looking at her collectibles and saying, I don't know. I guess when the time comes, if I want something, I'll tell you. My mom kept saying sadly, Look at all of her little things.

My mother said it would make her happy if I found a few things to take with me, that I would like to have to remember Grandma by, even now before the end. I took some lovely hats, vintage hats from the 40s, covered with tiny flowers made by an aunt who was a milliner. They fit me and I'll wear them. I took a pair of perfect white gloves, like the kind that ladies wore every day. And a couple of old slips and an old bottle of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew, because that is what I remember Grandma smelling like. I took some photos. And my mother gave me a beautiful ring, with a lovely diamond that was my Bubbie's, my grandma's mother--the beautiful mother from the yellow lined paper.

I wore the ring home on the train, watched the diamond sparkle in the last rays of the sun before it got dark outside and nothing could be seen of the world at all. I would have rather had my grandma be happy, just once, for me to see, than to have all of the diamonds in the world.

***

ps. I have had several imaginary grandmothers. My favorite one is Madeline L'Engle, which is also why I was so happy to find this quote to use for this post. I almost had an opportunity to meet Ms. L'Engle once, but poor health had caused her to cancel an event where she was to give a talk and sign books. I was to have her sign my first copy of A Wrinkle in Time, first read voraciously in the fifth grade and then regularly and often ever since, and which is probably the book I would take to a desert island with me if I could only have one. Sadly, I never got that book signed (the cover had fallen off years ago anyway), but I was so close.

From the book: "You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you."