by Victoria Dillen
Tears streamed down Mom’s face as she managed to step into the
living room. Grammy was waiting as she struggled to say, “I
can’t take care of you anymore.”
It had started out to be a beautiful spring day, the sun was
warm and the air was full of possibilities. It had been six
weeks since Mom had moved in with Grammy to care for her because
she had broken a bone in her foot. The fracture meant bed rest
while it healed. She still lived in her own home at the grand
age of ninety.
I was proud of Mom when she said she would look after Grammy. I
visited as often as I could. We had such good times. Grammy was
always interested in what we had to say and she had such
fascinating stories of the depression of the 1930's, and taking
care of the family when grandpa was in the war. She could
remember all the names and birthdays of her grandchildren, great
grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren.
Grammy flourished under Mom’s care, but that ended when Moms’
back gave out. Mom knew without the doctor telling her, that
those precious days with Grammy were over. It was going to be
another two weeks before Mom could handle the drive home. I felt
so helpless because I knew Mom was worried about Grammy and she
could do nothing about it.
I had arrived as quickly as I could from work when Mom phoned
the day she hurt her back. Hannah, the seventy-year-old
companion to an aunt who had arthritis, arrived also. The only
option was for Grammy to go live with them. I suggested we wait
for Eric to get off work, so he could help get Grammy down the
stairs and into Hannah's car.
Eric arrived and Grammy, sitting in her wheelchair wearing a
pink dress and white sweater that matched her hair, and with
pink crocheted slippers on her feet, was ready to go. Mom and
Eric looked as horrified as I felt, as Hannah pushed Grammy out
on to the landing. She decided she should take Grammy down the
stairs, despite our protests and suggestions. She insisted
instead, that Eric take the bottom of the wheelchair and help
lift it down the stairs.
Hannah maneuvered Grammy onto the top step and as she pushed
towards the second, she seemed stuck as she leaned forward with
the wheelchair. The more she leaned forward, the farther back
the wheelchair tipped. By the third stair, Grammy was laying on
her back in the wheelchair looking up at the sky, her skinny
legs sticking up like two fancy toothpicks. Eric frantically
tried to grab something, anything, to get her upright, but there
was nothing to grab. The wheels just spun when he reached for
them. Hannah, still on the landing, bent over as far as she
could, her arms stretched out to the limit. Her face was mere
inches from the stairs, and she was unable to move one foot
forward from that landing. I marveled that she was so flexible,
and hugged the purses she had given me to hold, unable to shove
her out of the way and grab the wheelchair.
To Eric’s look of horror and my whispered, “Oh no,” Hannah let
go, unable to hold the weight of grandma and the wheelchair any
longer. We watched helplessly as it thumped down the remaining
steps, Grammy jouncing like a rag doll.
The wheelchair came to a stop on the last step. Grammy lay on
her back, her slippered feet poking in Eric’s face. He was white
as a sheet as he gasped out, “Are you alright Grandma?”
She chuckled, “Yes. That was quite a ride, wasn’t it?”
He grinned, ‘Yes it was.” He looked so relieved.
We managed to get the wheelchair upright and Grammy settled into
Hannah’s car. Eric came inside with me, his face covered in
sweat, and managed a weak, “I thought I killed Grandma.”
We laugh about it now, but at that moment…
Grammy died that year, unable to return to her home and I was
asked to give the family tribute for her. There was so much I
wanted to say. I had given Grandpa’s tribute when I was sixteen.
I still have trouble picturing him in knickers. I miss them
Mom said God gave her that gift of time with Grammy, and she
treasured every moment, and learned a lot. She said Grammy’s
example of patience, love and acceptance was so Christ like, and
was the epitome of what a grandma and mom should be. She said
those things were so lacking in her own family.
I watch Mom playing with our children. They call her Grandma,
but I see Grammy.
Titus 2:3 The aged women likewise, that they be in
behaviour as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to
much wine, teachers of good things;
4 That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their
husbands, to love their children,
5 To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient
to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.
7 In all things shewing thyself a pattern of good works: in
doctrine shewing uncorruptness, gravity, sincerity,
8 Sound speech, that cannot be condemned; that he that is of the
contrary part may be ashamed, having no evil thing to say of
© 2008 Victoria Dillen
Copyright . All articles are the sole property of SeekGod.ca and Vicky Dillen.
All Scripture King James Version unless otherwise
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