Dear, I see it in your eyes...

The moment I walk into these Senior Center doors, I am my mother.  Almost every day here I have memories of my Mom taking care of one of our family members.  As a child I was so blessed to not only have each of my grandparents, I also had all but two great grandparents (in fact I still have one).  Through the lives and deaths of six great-grandparents and one grandmother, I was able to learn so much about caring for those during their last phase of life.

There are times I remember getting this sick feeling in my stomach in certain situations, and when I would look at my Mom I knew there were moments where she felt the same, but she would smile through it and hum it away; I too have learnt to do that, without her explaining it to me, I knew the importance of that very small act.  

I remember going to the hospital after my great-grandfather had gangrene.  Mom briefly forewarned us that one of his legs had been amputated but because I was so young (maybe eight or so), I was totally unprepared for the gravity that would hold for me.   I went in there completely shocked, rather frightened, and stomach turning.  Mom didn't skip a beat.  She told him how great he looked after surgery, she rubbed his wounds, she sang to him.  I knew that feeling in my stomach would probably stay, but I also knew that I needed to get past it, I needed to find my inner Mom and be alright with these situations.  So today I find myself humming a tune and I catch myself perching my lips the same way as her, as I gently put food into another women's mouth.  

I cannot explain the entertainment I receive from working in a senior center.  Listening to the constant bantering, the well-earned entitlement to receive whatever/whenever, the grace in their eyes, the coldness in some hearts.  You really do get to see it all.  People are different before they pass away.  When people know they don't have much time left, it opens up a freedom in them to be whoever they would like; it is bloody hilarious and so beautiful all in one.  

Every morning the seniors go to their regular spot in the dinning room.  The table beside us is usually quite lively.  It consists of Adelle (or as she likes to introduce herself as "Adelle, Adelle, nice to meet you pretty bell, now go away or go to h*ll"), Oscar who has Parkinson's and is essentially immobile, and Mr. Johnston, a very proper english gentleman who loves his gold jewelry and is very loud, exaggerated, and humors.  Anyway, the three of them were talking today and this is how the conversation went:

Mr. Johnston:  "Good-morning Oscar, OSCar, OSCAR, just wave to me this once Oscar. Can you believe he is 68?"

Adelle: "Oh he's in rough shape for being so young, looks like we'll beat him there" 

Mr. Johnston: "You know, Im 94 almost 95"

Adelle: "Im 91, turning 92, looks like you'll beat me there too"

Mr. Johnston: "We made it Adelle, we made our nineties, congratulations" (at this point they have about a sixty second eye lock/handshake) "You know I never even smoke or drank"

Adelle:  "Well you missed out on a lot of fun...I mean A LOT!" (and that was pretty much a conversation stopper for Adelle, I mean really, who doesn't smoke or drink?)

At times, I sit in the lunch room and think about how much wisdom is in this one room.  How many years of experience, tears, growth, and setbacks; literally I cannot even fathom.  Thankfully I have had the pleasure of receiving that wisdom so many times.  I have been in the company of many beautiful souls who have offered the most simple yet brilliant advice in all areas of life.  The other day Eva (the lady I am working with) said to me "I try not to worry but my disposition calls out for me to do so.  I haven't got the natural fortitude to just let it go", she followed that with the kindest glance and a graceful "dear, I see it in your eyes, you need to work on that too".  Oh the words of the wise!