generations

Yesterday we went to visit my grand-mother in the rehab center. She is 91 and is recovering from major surgery. She is slowly coming unraveled. Her body is failing her piece by piece. Bit by bit it all gets taken away. How can any of us be prepared for that? I brought Lukas to see her. I thought it could be uplifting. I bundled him up against the frigid weather and dressed him in my latest favorite outfit…the red turtle neck with his overalls. I love dressing him. I love how he looks like such a little boy in some clothes. Especially lately as he wobbles and attempts to stand. He gets so much joy from feeling his own weight. He is such a big baby with his double chin and round Buddha belly. It makes it difficult for him to roll over, his next chore in the developmental plan. Lately when he is on his back he struggles to roll over but winds up on his side or with his arm lodged beneath his torso or when I help him over he is terrified with his new perspective and grunts and cries. Then he wants to be put back on his back where he tries the whole thing over again. Instinct is a funny thing.
Lukas and I walked the Flores ant halls to my grandmother’s sad little corner of a room. There wasn’t much space to sit or spread out. I was thinking of how large her house must seem to her now…expanded in her memory. How after the fire her home was reduced to just one room. One room at the Sun Set home, a residence for older women. Now she only has half a room. She is sharing it with a woman who can no longer speak or hear or see. As I walk by my grandmothers sleeping roommate I wonder, when do we stop hanging on to life? When do we let our loved ones go? What about this woman’s dignity? Who was she? What were her dreams and aspirations? How close did she get to them? What does she dream of now as she lies, curled and fetal in her bed? Her body seems to softly mutter “back to the womb….take me back to the womb” as I walk past.
I take Lukas out of his car seat and my grandmother marvels at his chubby red cheeks, his bright blue eyes, his active hands and feet. “He looks so healthy.” She says as she pushes out a smile. He stares at her wide eyed. He is awed by the rivers in her skin. I sit in my assigned seat. She apologizes for the lack of space and asks me amazingly astute questions for a recovering 91 year old. When I grow tired of holding Lukas I lay him at the bottom of her bed by her feet. I look at the two of them. He is so small and fresh, a life stretched out before him. She is so frail and ashen. Stories crease her face and curve her spine. She says to me. “Here we are, one of us is on the way in and one of us is on the way out and we are sharing the same bed.” Her lucidity is shocking as she is mostly a woman who lives on the surface of life. “I tell you Lukas” she continues “Its not easy coming into this world and its not easy getting out.” He looks at her without blinking and twitches his chubby little legs as he tries again, without success to roll over. He will one day make it over. Bit by bit he is coming into this body. Piece by piece he is coming into this world.