The highlight of my Sunday wasn't the short visit with my brother or introducing John to a delightful Chinese restaurant with tables filled with Asian families, or even our traditional Sunday night snuggle & listen to Prairie Home Companion. It happened in the morning, as I enjoyed Be Well Cafe's Eggsparagus & a fairly quiet read; happened due to the drift of a fragment of another table's conversation whiffling its way over to my unexpecting ears. Ears perked up by a fella's amazement at an ancient relative still able to thread a needle!
Guess my ears picked it up due to my fascination with muscle memory. I think about Mom going to visit Dad in the nursing home where he was for his past couple weeks; he was in a deep coma, but when she entered the room his hand moved on the top of his sheets, waiting for her touch. Powerful muscle memory.
Being my usual bold self, I strode over to where the four friends were sitting, next to the front window. Introduced myself, apologized for having overheard the few words, shared my fascination with the power of muscle memory.
So glad I did - enjoyed a delightful fifteen minutes!
Am still awed by the fellow who'd shared the needle threading story. He has such a deep enjoyment of older people, paired with what seems like an unusual appreciation & willingness - eagerness - to see them as remarkable elders rather than elderly. Not overstating to say it was a thrill to hear him talk, to see the expressions on his face as he talked about his parents, both in their upper 80s.
He talked about his mother, diagnosed with diabetes years ago but refusing to have dialysis, due to its debilitating side effects. He shared a photo (or was it a video? it felt like a video) of her making spaghetti pasta, described how she paces herself, how she often throws up throughout the next day, but the joy of once again making pasta by hand is worth the cost.
He talked about his bed-ridden father, a contractor, who will ask for his wheel barrow, a request his son honors (not sure if for real, or imaginary), how the dad will make the physical gestures of preparing the cement, how he will chastise his son for getting splatters on the wall. How he will ask for his son, with his boy telling him, "Gerry will be here shortly," then later leaves & returns to the room saying, "Hi, Pops - here I am."
He told the priceless story of his dad being informed that he needed to have chemo. That it was decided the best way was with pills. How his father, who loved to make & drink homemade wine, was told that he absolutely could NOT have so much as a glass of wine when he was taking the chemo meds. How he protested, but the doctor would not back down, so the older man informed the physician - "Here's what we'll do. I'll keep the wine & you keep the pills."
That was eight years ago and, like his diabetic wife, he is still with us & still enjoying life.
Hearing the stories, feeling the love & pride the new pleasant acquaintance feels for both his parents, how he interacts with his dementia-challenged father & respects his mother's willingness to tolerate feeling ill if it means she can feel ALIVE in her favorite ways - it lifted me up.
Sorry, Peter. Sorry, staff at Bamboo. Yes, even sorry John & Garrison. Those moments at Be Well, listening to, watching a loving son speak about his aged parents with such love & unabashed joy... Those were the best moments of my day, hands down.
Credits
cutecarebears.blogspot.com
thesimplestencil.com
organicauthority.com
nextavenue.
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