Grandma Stevens was 78 when she died; that's the age I am now. Grandma seemed old to me as long ago as I can remember. It was the fifties and early sixties, when many gray-haired grandmothers wore their hair in a bun and quilted, and crocheted pretty doilies. Maybe that made them seem older than they were.
One of my cousins who lived up the road from Grandma told me they helped her a lot during her latter years, and I'm sure they did. Most family gatherings took place at her house, and it would have been a lot of work for someone her age (my age now) to get ready for all those people crowding into that small house. Uncle Leo's family had helped her in various ways all her life after her husband died in 1938. She didn't drive, so they took her with them to town to do the "trading". They mowed her yard and helped in many other ways.
As I was thinking about how I always thought Grandma was so ancient, I happened to think of a situation with my oldest grandson some thirty or more years ago. He had come to stay with us one summer when he was perhaps three or four. There was a lady's assembly at the old German Church, and I took him with me, knowing it might not work out too well; he could get hyper at times. As expected, he did get restless with all the sitting and talking, so he and I went outside the church and I took him for a walk through the adjoining church cemetery so he could work off some steam.
He was quite the talker, and always amazed me with his childlike wisdom. But I was blindsided when this curious little boy wanted to know what those headstones in the graveyard were for. It stumped me at the time, because how could I explain to him that people die? I thought for a minute and decided to tell him the truth, hoping I could make it sound not too bad. I'm not sure I should have taken that path, but here's basically how it went:
"Well," I said to him, "when people get really old, they get tired and their body hurts, and they are worn out and tired and don't feel well any more, and they die. Their bodies are buried in the ground, but that's OK because they don't feel anything anymore and they don't have to hurt all the time. Those stones are there to tell you what their names are and when they died." I imagine I said something about their souls going to Jesus, but I don't remember that. However, I'll never forget what he said to me.
"But Grandma, you're old!"
I was forty-five at the time.
I assured him that I wasn't really old yet, and that I would be around for a long time. But I'll never forget the shock I felt from finding out my innocent little grandson thought I was "old".
Donna, this story is priceless.... and so very very true!! I remember thinking my parents were "getting up there in age" when I was a kid still at home...then later realizing they weren't old at all. Funny how perception is...and how it changes when we ourselves age! ~Andrea xoxo
ReplyDeleteIt happens to the best of us.
DeleteThank you for that story! I dreamt of one of my grandma's this morning in a very vivid dream, so vivid that I had to call her up. So this blog title caught my attention. I am very fortunate that up until two weeks ago, I still had both of my grandma's around. Not many 50 year olds can say that. The one I called is turning 91 this fall. The one who now rests in the graveyard was 93.
ReplyDeleteGood grief, you'll live to be 110, with that kind of history in your family. My mom was 93 when she died.
ReplyDeleteKids are hilarious when they try to judge age. Even high schoolers are terrible at it! I was 30 when I lost my last grandparent, my mom's dad. He was 78. My other grandfather died in his early 80s. My mom's mom was 51 and my dad's mom was in her late 60s. My own father died at 92 and my mom is 90. So for me, who knows?
ReplyDeleteTrue! And you seem awfully young to me. I am 86...soon to be 87 .in December and I don't feel especially old.My left thumb often hurts when it's swollen and my knees are not what they used to be.But generally speaking, I am pretty healthy for my age. I only take two meds....my blood pressure med and my thyroid med. My kids are all three in their 60s.
ReplyDeleteMy great aunt Margie,who I was named after, lived to be 104 and went to sleep one night and just didn't wake up in the morning. .Now that's the way to go!
ReplyDelete