Meeting Persephone

Both of my grandfathers are now gone to the Otherworld. I have two grandmothers remaining in this world. I've just received a phone call that my maternal grandmother was admitted into the hospital yesterday. This is the same grandmother that introduced me to "Charlie" the squirrel, plants, trees, flowers, and reverence for nature. This is where my Druid roots lie.

My grandmother has Alzheimer's disease and is blind. I cannot tell you what the stage is that she's in though she seems little different now from the woman who had such a large part in raising me. She's always had a miserable memory and has always been horrible with names. It was part of her charm. We grew quite accustomed to being called by each and every name in the family including the dog's when we spent time at my grandparents' house. It was just part of the deal. Now she puts her keys in the freezer and her phone is shut off frequently because she forgets to pay the bills that she has great trouble seeing.

She used to be a very heavy drinker and smoker. As her health has declined over the years she's given up those habits. Now it's fortunate that she has given up those habits if only for safety reasons. These days she wanders the halls of her home with oxygen tubes trailing in her wake. My mother's toy poodle never far from her side. She wears a house-coat of bright colors and knitted slippers on her tiny feet. Clips in her hair are her attempts at vanity now though once she was in the beauty shop once a week. She has beautiful hands that she cared for to the point of obsession as a teenager because their hands were the only vanity they were allowed. They were not allowed to wear nail polish or make-up as she was growing up and so pressing back her cuticles and filing her nails was her beauty. She never wore nail polish but covered her hands in oils and socks every night before she went to bed. They really are lovely even to this day despite the fact that they are not as well cared for now. Everything now, in this stage of life and aging, tends to go by the wayside. Utilitarian care is all that is offered instead of attempts at beautifying. She was a cheerleader as a teen. Small and smiling. Today she reminds me of one of Brian Froud's small elves. Round of nose and sparkling eyes full of mischief with a biting humor. Temper of fire but laughter like bells. A wicked tongue and sassy in her demeanor. I adore her.

She dug her hands into the earth and it revived her. Every spring was spent planting, spreading compost, weeding, pruning. She gained strength from the soil and pride in her flowers. She fought for the Indian Paintbrush as one of her favorite plants. She showed us how to coax the sweetness from honeysuckle on long walks in the mountains near the creek. She sleeps on a feather pillow where her head makes nary a dent. She would arise to the small voice of her grandchildren at 4 in the morning and was soon before the stove preparing warm bowls of oatmeal. She stands 5'1" and when my grandfather lived, he stood 6'4". She floated like a feather in his arms on the dance floor and each of us knew we were growing up when we passed her in height as children. Now she struggles to breathe just walking from bed to bathroom. She grew her own vegetables, canned them, and supported those who did so locally. She refuses to shop at large national chains.

It's a fact of life that we must watch those we love decline as we all age. Today my grandmother lives, but I know and have to accept sooner than I like that it won't be much longer until she's gone from this world. So here I sit grasping at the straws of knowledge she passed on to me in my youth and wishing I'd paid more attention through the years. It's a sad fact of life that we do not cherish those treasures in our life when they have so much more to give and when we are at last ready to receive, the treasures are mostly lost to us.