Adopt A Grandparent

Aunt Lucille's death had me diving back into pictures and family memories and I realized that I barely knew my grandparents on my dad's side.  Grandpa C died when I was 3 years old.  I don't even remember him.  And Grandma C died when I was 10 or 11.  I only have one or two memories of her.  Those strawberry, vanilla and chocolate wafer cookies are a part of those memories.  That left my grandparents on my mom's side and I was actually kind of uncomfortable around older people as a teenager.  I've been racking my brain trying to understand why I didn't immerse myself in those relationships back then.  All I can come up with is that I was a stupid teenager.  A know-it-all ... or not so know-it-all teenager.   I was shy and soft-spoken and "old people" couldn't hear well.  It was hard to have a conversation.  Sometimes life is just backwards.  By the time I'm old enough to find my voice and am actually drawn -- really drawn -- to elderly people, I don't have any living grandparents.  That pretty much sucks.  I wouldn't have known back then that I wouldn't have any living grandparents before I reached the age of 30. 

I signed up for a Random Acts of Kindness meetup group over a year ago that keeps sending me "Adopt a Grandparent" events every couple of months.  They meet at a nursing home not far from me where I believe, my dad actually stayed after knee surgery or a hospice stay.   After a year of email invitations to join, I have yet to participate.  What am I afraid of?  I finally feel like I can have a conversation with "old people."  Something is holding me back. I think I'm afraid of getting attached. I'm being selfish because I don't want to hurt any more. If I live long enough to be moved to assisted living or a nursing home, who is going to visit me? Will I feel alone?  If family isn't nearby and I'm not getting daily or weekly visits, of course I would feel alone.  And forgotten.  And as though my life didn't matter.

I think those are probably common feelings for men and women living what's left of their lives in a nursing home.  By looking forward to visitors, they have a reason to keep their light burning.  They have a reason to engage and smile and feel like they matter.

Why wouldn't I give that gift to some gentle soul who has given so much during their life? They may have raised a family.  They may have fought in a war.  They have a story.

I received another reminder today about an Adopt a Grandparent event and I believe they meet next Sunday.  I don't know what to expect.  I have visions of "The Notebook" and my dad's stay at hospice, and I'm afraid to find out what emotions a real visit will conjure up.  But it's not about me.  And I really think that it's time that I learn someone's story.   They need to know that they matter.

A Father's Day Fish Story

When Big Fish came out (2003), Nikki and I went to see it together. The movie touched me profoundly to the point where I was sobbing uncontrollably on the way back to the car.  No other movie has had quite the same affect on me before or since. What an odd movie to stick out among others and to grab me by the heart the way that it did.  I quickly realized it was because Albert Finney's story-telling character (Ed Bloom) reminded me of my dad. It made me realize that those stories that I had heard all my life would stop someday -- and two years later, in 2005, they did.

Do you ever find yourself rolling your eyes when a parent starts to tell you something that you've heard 100 times? It's strange how we can so easily dismiss those opportunities for connection as an annoyance because we've heard it before.  Now I strain to remember even one of dad's stories before they become too distant to grab hold of. 

Today is Father's Day and I've been thinking about my dad.  Today of all days, as I was flipping through the television channels, a scene immediately caught my attention and I stopped there. There was Albert Finney ... there was Big Fish. I just finished watching it and yes, it grabbed me by the heart again.  I miss his stories.  I miss my dad.

"A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal."  -Will Bloom (Big Fish)

  



Happy New Year! 1.1.11

Now this is the way to start a new year ... or new day -- with exuberance!

Wishing you a joy-filled, love-filled, peace-filled, blessing-filled New Year.