My Grandmother, Pauline Mary Barnet Bolton, passed away.
I haven't spoken with her for probably (2) years. Perhaps a year and a half. I don't know. I struggled with the guilt and sadness I felt. mine. So, I didn't call. Afraid that she'd not remember who I was or that I had even called anyway. Afraid that the conversation would keep coming back to "do you still live in California?" With me replying "yes. yes, I do. Though I'd like to move home." That was after she broke her hip and moved into a senior care home.
Her memory was fading before that. long before that. The reality is...I just didn't know how to sit with my own discomfort in order to reach out and connect with her. I didn't know how to point out that she was watching the same television channel all day, and that the programs kept repeating, all day. I don't know if she was watching anyway.
When her memory began to slip and she moved out of her house into her own apartment- I didn't know how to be in relationship to her. Previously our relationship revolved around the conversations we had while doing things. When I was young- I'd trail behind while she harvested the garden. We'd shell peas, wash carrots. I'd ride along on visits to her brothers, or sister in-law Vera. Later, I'd accompany her to Dr.'s appointments. She'd bring me along with her while she tended the gravestones of our ancestors. Hunching over our tasks, she'd talk. We'd clean the markers of our family- and she'd talk to me about who they were. She'd tell me about our family. and sometimes- often, we were quiet. She was quiet and it was okay because we were together, working.
Later, when I was older, I'd drive over from college and help with chores and yard work. Then she'd cook dinner for the two of us. We'd talk and be in each others company. I think, mostly, I asked her questions.
So, when her memory began to change -and when there were no chores to be done - my conversations with her felt strange. Where, once, there was activity now was space. empty space.
Rather than explore this new relationship with my aging Grandmother - I simply left. I called her once or twice and then never again. Rather than reach out, sadness filled in. then guilt. Still I didn't reach out.
I wonder. How do we honor those who have taught us so much? How do I offer my Grandmother the respect that she deserves? Now that she has passed, how could I have done it differently?
We live in a different time. Families spread out. We are dependant on technology. I sometimes wonder how different it would have been had I lived closer...I should have lived closer. And then I think... Life is different now. My entire family doesn't live on the same hill I grew up on. I had the good fortune of growing up surrounded by family. I lived next door to my Grandparents on wide open farm land. My Grandmother taught me a lot in that time- more than I could possibly explain in this short piece. I know many people are not so lucky. But they should be. We all should be so lucky as to have elders as teachers. life teachers.
As I age and consider becoming a parent myself, I realize that I must find another way. I must blaze forward and courageously cultivate and maintain the beautiful relationships I have with my elders. And I must teach others- parents, and children to do the same. For if I do not, I fear the knowledge and wisdom will be lost to my own children, and others.
