Lost Video Tape - My Grandmother's Words

My aunt gave me a video tape recently. She told me that it was of my grandmother. Apparently in her last years, the nursing home she resided in decided (wisely) to interview their residents. The video tape was the result. My grandmother has been gone for a long time now. The tape was dated 1990.

With a fake fireplace in the middle of the screen, the interviewer sat across from my grandmother. She was very hard of hearing by this time, often having to ask that the question be repeated. And the audio wasn't great. It was hard to understand her responses. In fact, I plan to go through slowly, so that I can transcribe the interview.

She talked about coming over in a covered wagon. She had eleven siblings. She talked about the games she played with her brothers and sisters. She looked down at her weathered hands when she talked about a brother, who was named after a relative who died tragically. The brother died when he drown at the age of two. But when the interviewer asked more questions about what they did in their spare time, she emphasized that they worked. They didn't have a lot of time to play.

Then at the end of the interview, she was asked an important question. "Mae, is there some message you'd like to leave for the little ones? Is there something you'd like to say for posterity?" It was at this point that I asked my son to listen. He'd been playing a video game.

"Brian...Listen to this." I said. "It's my grandmother and she's about to tell us something." I said.

Mae looked up and down and then said, "Don't ever lie and don't steal."

Oh, I thought. OK...that was kind of basic, but good advice.

My son started to go back to his game. But then the interviewer asked again, "Is there anything you'd like to tell your children or grandchildren?"

"Listen Brian. Listen." I said.

He looked at me. "Mom, why are you sitting like that?" he asked.

Unbeknownst to me, I was sitting on the edge of my seat.

Grandma Mae looked a bit bewildered, as if the interviewer had asked a silly question.

"Any message you'd like to leave your children?" she asked again.

"Well..." Grandma started. "I hope they don't live this long. It's too hard."

And that was it. My husband and son went back to whatever they were doing. It was me who was left with that thought. I wanted to cry. That night, I couldn't sleep. I remembered taking my toddler daughter to visit her great grandmother. Did I visit enough? Why didn't I ever pick her up and take her to my house or to the park? I never even thought of that. She was obviously lonely. But I would never have known that. She was always so positive. I would have never in a million years dreamed she'd say those words.

I talked with my husband about it. He had no answers. My parents are now reaching the age my grandmother was in that tape. As I sat in church yesterday, still contemplating my grandmother's words, something occured to me. She no longer had a purpose. She'd outlived her friends and most of her family. She and my grandfather lived in their own home until they were in their early 90's. And then, like many her age, she went to live in a nursing home.

The words, "I hope they don't live this long. It's too hard," were a reflection of a loss of purpose. Sad, isn't it. I think that even at my age, which is less than half of hers at the time of that taping, I can begin to adopt a philosophy of purpose. It's a mindset really- a way of looking at life. Making a difference isn't about your age. It doesn't stop at 70 or 80 or 90. There is a purpose to all of our lives. And perhaps we need to reach up to that generation, just as we reach down to the generation which came after us. Together we form an unbreakable chain. What is your place in the chain?

Write Now ~Karen

"Drive!" - My excuse for not blogging

So much for my daily blog. I mean, I had this idea. I've read that the thing that is ever-important with blogging is that you blog consistantly. So I thought, hey-I can do that. And being the slightly perfectionistic person that I am, I did blog every day. Did you notice? I knew you would. So anyway-What is it with life these days? Well, it got in the way (life that is) again. It started with spoiled milk and a trip to Safeway.

I was making hamburger helper (I know...I know). When I opened the milk, it was nasty. So I had to go to the store. About the same time, my son Brian* wanted to go to the park. My husband didn't want to let him go but it was on my way and his friends were already down there (they all have cell phones). So I dropped him off and went to the store.

On my way home, I waited for the light and glanced down Main street. An ambulance was sitting there in front of the park. My heart did a little flip-flop so I turned around and went by the ambulance slowly. People were walking by casually, kids on bikes etc... Perhaps the paramedics were just on a break. So I drove home. One house away from mine, I saw my husband getting into his truck. He saw me and ran to the car. "Drive!" He yelled. "It's Brian isn't it!" I said more than asked.

Brian had fallen in the park-on his head. We arrived at the hospital before he did but still had to fill out paperwork so it was a long, oh about 3 minutes before we were taken back to see him. He was strapped to a back-board, his head in a cushioned vice (I'm sure there's a more doctorly term but I don't know it). His legs were velcroed down and he had white guaze wrapped around and around his forhead. He had a large bloody road-rash burn on his cheek, a cut above his eye and splattered blood on both hands.

Only his eyes seemed like a part of his own familiar body...and they were filled with fear.

"Brian, it's going to be OK." I said calmly.

"Mom, I don't want to get stitches." He said and then started to cry.

"We don't know anything about that yet Brian. Just calm down and we'll find out more." I said.

He cried and began hyperventilating with fear, telling us he loved us and that he didn't want to die. I watched ER for years so I'm pretty educated in these things. And I knew that sometimes when things seem to be fine, the patient somehow just knows that they aren't. And that knowledge bumped around in the forefront of my mind.

His biggest fear was the stitches. We later found out that one person on the scene, a teenager, and then the paramedic in the ambulance told him he'd need stitches. But I knew that with all the childhood mishaps I'd been through with my kids, it was rarely as bad as it first seemed.

But then the doctor came in. She pulled back the bandage to reveal a gauge like I'd never seen before (except on ER). I stood back, looked at my husband and mouthed, "Oh My God!" Now I could see why the paramedic, and even the teenager were so sure that he'd need stitches. The cut was about three inches long but was spread probably an inch open. It looked impossibly deep, like pink raw hamburger meat. Yep, he needed stitches.

Thankfully, tests revealed no skull fracture, no broken wrist, no neck or back injury. But he did have a bad concussion and of course that gauge in his head. Well, long story short...he got several shots in his head, stitches to his forehead and weeks of not being able to do much of anything.

He's recovering now, got the stitches out yesterday. He's still not back to normal, dizzy at times and has forgotten very important things like what finger jello is. Other than that, we are very lucky or fortunate or whatever you want to call it. We have our Brian back home and know it could have been so much worse.

*Brian is not his real name.

So how's that for an excuse for not blogging. Beats "the dog ate my homework" right? You know when I started this blog I was worried about what I'd write about everyday. It was so nice of my boys to give me fresh material. But I'm putting my family on notice; no more blog material needed. I'll be happy to write about sunshine, rainbows and roses from now on.


Karen