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First, let me tell you a story about my own grandmother, blind, paralyzed, deaf and dumb, and the man who adored her. 

                   Grandmother Betty never moved her hands or legs or mouth, never opened her eyes, and never ate anything without Grandpa feeding her. I never saw her take a sip, without him holding a cup to her lips. Even thinking of her as a granny was a stretch that my child’s mind couldn’t make. Grannies cook and pressure you to eat their food so you will grow; they fuss over you and have eyes that light up when they see you. They smile when you speak with them. They’ve got things to say when you pose questions . But not a word ever came out of her mouth; nor did a word of mine go into her ears.

                By the time I was born, glaucoma completely robbed her of her sight. Soon after, she suffered a stroke that left her unable to hear; incapable of speaking; and unable to move most of her body but for one arm.  On my monthly Sunday sojourns to visit my grandparents with my father, she was slumped in her wheelchair.  Though I knew that Grandpa every weekday made sure she spent time in the living room of their snug apartment and not in bed.   

             DON'T TAKE ANYONE'S LIFE FOR GRANTED!         

                 I took my vegetative grandmother as one of the givens in the world. I would find her forever collapsed in a sitting position on our monthly visit.

                 My grandfather would wait for us expectantly. to usher into their small apartment. Inside would be Grandma Betty, elbow propped on the arm of her wheelchair, her torso leaning heavily on her palm and her face downcast. I do not recall if there were signs that she was aware of our presence. My father probably moved me towards her with subtle shoves to kiss her on the top of her head. The grandmother I had only heard about, the prolific seamstress, the gifted cook, the warm and compassionate matriarch who opened her home to family who had fled from Nazi Germany to NY-- no longer inhabited her flesh and bones.

             A photo portrait that I recently found shows the German American émigré I never knew. Robust, full of self-confidence a glint of humor in her eyes, glancing up at her husband Joseph with pride, a slight smile suggesting that while she loved and respected him, she was the one kept their domicile together.

             Like the day that my grandfather took my father Jerry who was then a young boy by subway to pick up her sewing machine after its repair. My grandfather with pride returned with her machine mission accomplished. The restored treadle meant that with her deft hands, their walls would resound with the busy click of the presser foot as she guided the stitching on garment or fabric.

                     “Here, it is,” he presented the wooden case to show her.

                      She looked around. “But where is Jerry?”

                      My grandfather gasped . He had left him in the sewing machine shop!

                      Joseph, being good hearted but rather absent minded, needed her to take care of things properly. And she was doing just that until so afflicted, she could not.

                   So he took over the running of his wife’s body and mind. Without an aide or caregiver, for the next thirteen years, he alone got her out of bed for each new day. Single-handedly he would slip off her nightgown, get her onto the toilet and clean her, brush her teeth, wash her with a cloth, shampoo her short thin hair and comb it. Unaided, he outfitted her in the clean dresses she wore.

                   And then spent the day with his once dear companion, puffing on his pipe, emptying out the tobacco, reloading and tamping it into the bowl of his pipe, often reading a newspaper, making something to eat, God knows what, strolling around is apartment with her trapped in immobile silence.

               FEELING YOUR LOVED ONES

                 Sometimes, bodily empathy with Grandma Betty comes over me. Particularly if I close my eyes, deflate in a chair, prop my chin on my hands heavily and slump, I can feel her abysmal despair.

                  But what did my grandfather feel? From my Sunday visits, I witnessed only his joy at seeing us. His pleasure when he dealt the cards for us to play gin rummy.

                When he beat me, he cried, “Now I can eat!” Then he would get up, and go to the refrigerator to offer me a Coke. The fridge was almost bare. Grandma did not eat much.

           Was his stomach tied in knots from woe? Did he spend time crying? Did he beg the powers that be to make a miracle, and when they did not, did he pound his fists in is pillow? Did he slump in his chair too over his smoking pipe?

 QUESTIONS ABOUT LOVED ONES WITH NO ANSWERS?

          What kept him going through this latter part of his life, this painful grand finale? I do not know. But I know exactly the moment the curtain came down and life lost meaning for him. The morning he found Betty lifeless next to him in bed. After her funeral, his deterioration became pronounced. A wet spot on his trousers. Absent-mindedness. He did not care to play cards anymore. He did not care if he could eat. 

                 I wish he were alive so I could heap on him all praises I have for him now.  My God, You were a saint! You are a light in my life.

                I wish he were alive so I could ask him the questions that burn in me. How on earth did you do it ? I hear eloquent silence in response. She was my love. She was my life.

                                                                     ***

           Is there a loved one you wish to honor through a story you will write?  Are there questions you never asked him or her, but will ask now?

         Here is THE PLAN.

     1. Bring the loved one who pulls at your heart right now into your mind

     2. Enrich your image by detailing special things you did together

     3. Now using your memories, flow of images and specific details that are coming to you, WRITE all you can on paper about this loved one.  Dying to find out things about them you did not know, let your questions flow on paper!

          When you get these 3 things right, this is how it will affect you!

1. You will become awed by the very existence of this person in your life.
2. The experiences you had with them will reveal their deeper meaning.
3. You will truly appreciate the fleeting moments you spent with him or her.
4. Answers about him or her will come as you write!

         Your heartfelt words about your loved one will be awesome!

          Need Help and Guidance?

          Schedule a Consult!