My Grandmother.

Sitting on the end of the bed, watching in silence as I see the years ravage my grandmother, I seem to be humbled. This once vibrant, vivacious woman turned into a small child in such a short amount of time. How life can go from bliss to cruelty in such a swift and seemlingless movement is like watching a tornado as it skips across the plain picking and choosing its targets as if it were aiming for one in particular. Misty eyed, I talk with her hoping that some glimmer of the past or the present will rekindle some spark, some flame of hope that is buried deep within her. That somewhere the fighter that I have come to base my entire existence around will surface and once again my life will be whole. There are flickers, quick glimpses of “Wahty” there in the eyes of woman before me. I know that life is life, and this woman-this lady of grandeur has had one hell of a ride. She has seen depression, love lost-love gained and lost again. She had a marriage like no other. My grandfather, bless his soul, was not a man that many would have been able to take. A strong-willed, quick tempered Irishman who knew exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it and that was that. He was a homebody, not one to travel. However, what he did do was love my grandmother with his entire soul. There was not one shred of doubt that my grandfather loved my grandmother, for that was the ultimate romance. War-driven love, hard-working man, it was classic. Sometimes I think I see her fading into memories as I watch her eyes glass over and we lose her for a day. She has faded into the bliss of what was, and I really cannot blame her. For, how many of us can say we had the honor or the privilege to love or to be loved in such a manor, even if it was for just a short amount of time. For when we are frail and ailing, how many of us will be able to lose ourselves in the memories to escape from the hell of getting old? I can only hope that someday, when I sit in the place of my “Wahty”, that maybe, just maybe…I can hold onto the few memories I do have of little rooms and late afternoons and fade away to that far off place where nothing hurts and your always loved. My grandmother, no matter how she is or will be become, will always be “Wahty” and I thank God everyday that I was lucky enough to have her.