April
is Poetry month. An entire month set aside to encourage us to not only read poetry
but to also try writing our own verse. My original plan was to join my friends
in writing some sort of poem each day. On April 1, I had just taken pen in hand
and opened my notebook when the call came.
“I’m
worried about her,” our aunt’s helper said. “She doesn’t feel good.”
For
the second day in a row, I dressed and drove the ten minutes to her apartment
where I found our lovely relative dressed for the day, sitting in her recliner,
but looking weary.
“I
heard you weren’t feeling good today.” I said. “I thought we might check with
the doctor.”
“I’m
just a little tired. I think I’ll go down and see if I can eat a little lunch,”
she replied, ignoring my reference to doctor.
I
called my nurse sister-in-law, and we decided to honor her wishes. After all
she was going to the doctor on Thursday, so I hung around and we talked of this
and that.
At
noon, I walked her to the dining room before taking off to do some errands. When
I returned later, I found her sitting alone in the empty dining area where she
had nodded off to sleep right there in her chair.
“Are
you ready to go back to your apartment,” I asked.
Roused
by my voice, she replied with a sheepish smile, “Guess I’d sleep better in my
own place."
We
plodded back to the apartment where she plopped down in that worn recliner with
a sigh.
“Getting
old sure is tiresome. I can’t believe I’m the last one.”
The
rest of the afternoon I searched for the garnet ring that “my husband” (our
Uncle Chet) “had specially made for me.” It disappears from time to time as
does her wedding ring, which I found in the process. I hope the garnet turns up soon. It always has
before.
I
started this poem that evening, but as you can see I'm a bit behind.
Life Happens
We make our plans, but sometimes
life happens.
Interruptions destroy our finely
orchestrated schedules.
A day I thought belonged to me
unravels with a simple call.
I go and find her looking “all in”
as my mother used to say,
Yet she insists, “I’m just a
little tired.”
At 98 years and four months, she
soldiers on,
earthly dwelling, structurally unsound,
Supported by an aluminum walker and
sheer grit.
Most of her day, she sits in her
chair, watching TV or
Regaling visitors with memories. “Did
I ever tell you …”
I think of how someday I may be
tethered to a walker and chair,
And I listen as if I’ve never heard
that story before.
Is there someone who would love to
hear the sound of your voice? Why not call or better yet, pay a visit.
Even
to your old age, I am He, And even to gray hairs I will carry you!
I have made,
and I will bear; Even I will carry, and will deliver you. Isaiah 46:4
Labels: Aging, Family, Poetry Month
