Have you ever felt that little nudge? Heard the still, small voice that encourages you to do something? Go somewhere? Make a call? A visit? Send a note? An email? Flowers?
I went to visit my grandmother this week at her assisted living facility. It’s a comfortable place, with a caring staff, good meals, activities, and the opportunity to gather with friends. It has a lovely communal room to gather with family. But I don’t visit as much as I should. It's hard to watch beloved family members age and lose their independence, health, eyesight and hearing. Conversations are often conducted via shouting with lots of nodding and smiling.
My memories of my grandmother are vibrant. She was a red-headed spitfire with an infectious laugh and a fierce love of family, the ocean, motorcycles, and storms. Gram drove a Ranchero. She put the meaning in the word 'gumption'. She enjoys Rueben sandwiches. She adores the Oregon Coast, Napa Valley, and Tennessee. Partly because of the landscape but more for the memories of people she loved. I not only had the opportunity to be good friends with her, but also to travel. We also worked together at a motorcycle dealership in our younger years. She was a whiz with the adding machine and numbers. The computer, not so much.
My daughters accompanied me to see her and brought their children. My kids are her great grandchildren. My grandbabies are her great, great grandkids. This always tangles my thought process. Five generations, still interacting. The babies can someday say, we spent time with our great, great, grandmother. They won't remember. But I will.
She was absolutely overjoyed to spend time with the babies. She rubbed their little warm feet and held their hands. She laughed when they “talked" to her with loud baby squeals and giggles. She laid a gentle hand on the three-year old's shoulder and loved that he liked the balloons from her 97th birthday. She smiled when they grabbed the lanyard around her neck to play with the emergency button. She marveled that my girls are mothers, and I am a grandmother.
The next morning, I received a text that she’d fallen during the night and had broken two ribs which punctured a lung. We all know that a fall can be the beginning of the end to a person of advanced years. Older bodies don't heal quickly. Movement is difficult. But I'm happy to report that she is still cognizant, sitting up, and chatting. I know that there’s a time in life for our bodies to finally give out and tell us it’s time to let go. I'm thankful to say that day isn't quite here for Gram. Through the difficult night in the ER, all she could talk about was the joy of the visit from the day before. I'm glad she had something happy to focus on.
We were grateful we could give her a special day. We couldn’t have planned it in our own timing. I just knew I needed to go see her. We had no way of knowing what an impact our visit would make. And we never know when that last visit will be. Heed the still, small voice. Pay attention to the quiet nudge. Don't live with the regrets of would've, should've, could've. Go visit.
This is so powerful Stacy! I just loved hearing about your special Grandma, and how amazing it is that your children, and grandchildren got to meet her - that is truly an incredible gift to cherish always! I pray that she does recover and have as many more wonderful days as the Lord allows. And listening to the still small voice - we need to practice that more often, thank you for an incredible visual reminder! Blessings to you!