Memories of Yesterday!

IN OUR HEARTS…

Elizabeth, my Grandma at ninety-five, knew she was near the end. She did not repine, for she had had a long, hard life and she was tired. The young priest who brought her communion had administered the last rites—holy oils on her eyelids (Lord, forgive her the sins of seeing!); holy oils on her lips (Lord, forgive her the sins of speaking!), on her ears, on her knotted hands, on her weary feet. Now she was ready, though she knew the approach of the dread presence would mean greater suffering. So she folded quiet hands beneath her heart. And she seemed given over to pleasant reverie.

Neighbors came in to see her, and she roused herself and received them graciously, with a personal touch for each.—“And has your Juliet gone to High school yet, Ms. Mary? Nothing would do her best .she must be going, I suppose”. Or to Mrs. Mwanza: “Your hubby is at it again, I see by the look of you. Poor man! There’s no holding him? Eh, woman dear! Thirst is the end of drinking and sorrow is the end of love.”

If her visitors stayed longer than a few minutes, however, her attention wandered; her replies became cryptic. She would murmur something unknown; then fall into silence, smiling, eyes closed, yet with a singular look of attention. At such times, her visitors- mostly from church would whisper: “Glory be to God!” and slip out soberly into the kitchen.

Us grandkids, aunts, uncles and the whole overly extended family would seat near her and chant in low tones from over time recalling all the good old time

“Isn’t she failing, though, the poor afflicted creature?” One aunt cried one day. “Her mind is going back on her already.”

“Are you of that opinion? I’m thinking she’s mind enough yet, when she wants to be attentive; but mostly she’s just drawn into herself, as busy as a bee about something, whatever it is that she’s turning over in her head day in, day out. She scarcely sleeps a wink for all she do is lie there so quiet, and, in the night, she talks tog to herself. ‘No, no,’ she’ll say. ‘I’ve gone past. I must be getting back to the start.’ Or, another time, ‘This is it, now. If I could be stopping!’ ” another aunt would say. But no one knew what she was talking about

The old woman, lying back so quietly among her pillows, with closed eyes, yet with that look of singular intentness and concentration, was seeking no love from all of us, indeed, she wanted to bless us to live until eternity, narrating stories from her past but not worried about her future any longer. Each time, she hoped to die peacefully, her dying wish –for all of us to live in peace—Days  approached too closely, vanished,—once again she embarked on her river of memories, the sickness was relentlessly swift. However she yearned to linger, she was rushed to the doctors again and again till, all too soon, and she sailed into the common light of day. At that point, she always put about, and laboriously recommenced the ascent. Leaving us with nothing but joy in our heart, and tears in our eyes.