White Daisies and Red Grapes

Today is my aunt's 86th Birthday. 

She spent most of it in bed, in about 7' x 10' space, while a woman with dementia rambles about her car and her family in the shared space, they call a "room."

I remember my aunt's laughter and the fast driving.
I remember hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies from Hardee's as we drove back from "Bible Quiz."
I remember her sharp wit and her sharp eye.

Now, she sits...waiting for someone to pass by her door. She calls out to those who pass by: "What do you think you're doing?"...with a sly smile and a hope for conversation.

She is in pain. She is always in pain.
Years upon years of sitting at a sewing machine to provide for her family have ravaged her body. Age, time and genetics have played her as a pawn as well; knee replacement, arthritis, macular degeneration, breast cancer, heart issues ( with pacemaker ) and now, deteriorated shoulders are only a few of the issues she meets each morning.

Today, as I walked in her door...

I was holding a jar full of daisies, a bag of red grapes and a warm cinnamon roll right out of the oven.
She was asleep, yet she immediately opened her eyes with surprise and elation. We kissed and hugged and as we began the routines of our visit, she remarked over and over again about her gifts: "How gorgeous those daisies are!" "They are snow white!" "They are so beautiful."" These grapes are just like candy."

I helped her change out of a soiled gown and robe.
I helped her wash.
I helped her in the bathroom.
I fixed her hair.

I remember her raisin sauce for ham.
I remember sitting on the floor of her sewing room, listening to country preachers on the radio as I wrapped my dolls in fabric scraps.
I remember going to the grocery store for her, to buy pimento cheese when she could no longer drive.

After she settles back down ( the cleaning her up and changing, has reduced her to tears due to her shoulder pain ) she tells me again how wonderful the grapes taste... how beautiful the flowers are...how much I look like her.

I asked her if she wanted to hear more of "her story?" We've been reading, At Home in Mitford, by Jan Karon. She replied as she always does, "Well! That would be alright." (She can't read the print anymore)

Last year, she read the entire Bible.
She used to teach Sunday School.
She used to write poetry.
She used to paint.

We picked up our story and for a short while, left Greensboro, NC and the nursing home with it's forgotten and sickly residents for the mountain village of "Mitford." I watched as she ate those grapes, the cinnamon roll and escaped it all, even if it was only temporary.

We're interrupted by the wailing of a woman down the hall.
We're interrupted by the shrill "call buttons" going off all over the hallways.
We're interrupted by the staff bringing her dinner.
We're interrupted by the searing pain, coursing through her shoulders.

A bit more of our story and something has sparked a memory, as she tells me of how she helped with the delivery of one of her brothers when she was only 12. After all was over, she had prepared dinner for the family. "That's just how we did things then," she said.

I remember when she came to my concerts.
I remember when she sewed my Easter dresses.
I remember when she had her own pew, with her name on it.

It was time to leave, and as I collected the dirty clothes, straightened her bed and kissed her goodbye, she said: " I just can't get over these daisies. I've never seen anything so pretty."

I left, teary eyed as I usually do, because I want to rescue her from this terrible place. As I walked, catatonic, medically altered, elderly line the hallways and for a moment I have to keep myself from falling apart. I told her before I left: "I wish I could take you away from here."
She replied with: "I know honey, I know."

I remember how she loved "Pleasures," perfume by Estee Lauder.
I remember how she loved to drink coffee just like me. ( lots of cream and sugar )
I remember how hard it was to clean out her house with years of memories and "just in case" dust collectors.

I don't know if she'll have another birthday on this earth.
There are many other health issues, as is the emotional state she's in. In fact, she looked "far away" today. Maybe she was remembering too.
Maybe was remembering her brother who died at the exact age I will be in just a few weeks.
Maybe she was remembering her sweet mother who died too young.
Maybe she was remembering her dad, her other brother, her friends and even her husband who've already passed away.

Or, maybe instead of remembering she was imagining.
Maybe she was imagining a day when she'll have no more pain.
No more bland food.
No more medications.
No more tiny, overheated rooms.
No more existing.

Maybe she was imagining a day when these daisies will pale in comparison to the splendor of His light and these red grapes will be tasteless compared to the feast before us.
Birthdays will be irrelevant then, as eternity unfolds.

Then, she will say:  "How gorgeous those daisies are!" "They are snow white!" "They are so beautiful."" These grapes are just like candy." and they will be forever.