May is there, scowling and...well...trapped. Until recently she was the life of the party, the one in charge; fiercely independant and known for her vibrant humor. And then came the stroke. It stole her muscle control and part of her mind ~~ the part that decides social correctness and politeness are virtues. She is an angry woman now, and openly impatient with everyone around her.
She scares me half to death, but I make brief conversation with her, wishing I knew what to say to ease her mind. I blather something inane about the book she is reading and promise to bring her something new when I next visit. I make an awkward escape.
A quick run up the stairs to Gramma's floor takes me past huge picture windows revealing vast prairie scapes. The building is full of light. Works of art grace sky-blue and earth-toned walls. Book shelves are stocked, the pool table stands ready for play (although I've never seen it's cover off), and big screen t.v's (the envy of my sons!) sit ready to entertain.
The apartments in this central Alberta, small town lodge are welcoming and warm. Brightened by more large windows and roomy enough to show the personality of their owners, they offer comfort and ease.This is a place of security, care, and potential companionship to a group of aging rural Albertan's.
But Gramma is lonely there.
A similar scene presents itself further north, in another prairie town. My other Gran is also finding it difficult to settle into friendships with the residents at her facility. Lively and funny with tales to tell, she feels shy about connecting with her fellow lodge dwellers.
The trouble, they tell me, is the gossip. My breath catches in my chest when they tell me that; I realize anew that living long does not ensure strengthening of character or removal of bad habits. I have long wondered why women have such difficulty in cheering each other on; why we expend so much heart and thought on attempting to best one another instead of energetically supporting each other.
As an outsider, sitting amongst those beautiful, wizened, seasoned women, I see freedom ~~ opportunity for unfettered community. The gift of time allows them hours for conversation and play and mental engagement. Their bodies may be failing them, but their spirit and wit are as strong as the well-worn story tapestries that they each carry.
Gazing at those aging faces I commit myself to treasuring women. I challenge myself to leave off criticizing and judging and thinking ill of the female part of God's masterful creation. I even threaten a little, "Either get this thinking on the right track now, or resign yourself to some very lonely final years."
My grandmothers are going to be just fine in their respective homes. They're frustrated right now (Gramma says, "I'm old! I've been entertaining my whole life! I don't want to do it anymore!" But I see that mischief gleam in her eye. She's loving this challenge!), but I just know that they're going to take first steps, determined steps, toward some of those gals, extending offers of sweet friendship and loving companionship.
It's what we're here for, after all.
What do we live for if not to make the world less difficult for each other.
~George Eliot~
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