"How lucky I am to have something that makes
saying goodbye so special."
~ Winnie the Pooh, A. A. Milne
Changes are getting real for Blanche, my 97 year old friend and
landlady for this last year. House and car sold, furniture mostly
packed, she's emptying the house and moving to Florida. It's all huge
for anyone at any age, but at this point in life ...
Recently, daily, she goes through letters, cards, and photos that were stored away for years. One by one. Her emotions continue to come in waves, like those that reach the shore after a storm. "Memories gone by" she says, as she works through another pile. "Memories in your heart forever" I counter.
I gift her one of my Maine fir tree mugs and she offers me a choice of her cherished knickknacks. I chose a small, hand-blown faceted oil pitcher. "I'll think of you every time I use this" I tell her. I take it to put into my own moving boxes upstairs and when I return to where she is, there is a huge, silent, tear slowly ever so slowly running down her cheek. She seems to pretend I cannot see it from the distance as we stand at the opposite ends of the hallway. I pretend the same.
These are not easy times for her. But she is feeling her emotions deeply. Fully. Life is such. Laughter and tears. I admire her fortitude, her strength and courage. "Blanche's Next Big Adventure" is the title of the tiny, pink notebook I gave her to keep track of all the details so she wouldn't spin in circles. I have learned SO much about life and aging from this amazing woman.
Each goodbye now, for her, is the absolute last on this earth.
But I believe that even at 97 there are adventures still to be had.
Recently, daily, she goes through letters, cards, and photos that were stored away for years. One by one. Her emotions continue to come in waves, like those that reach the shore after a storm. "Memories gone by" she says, as she works through another pile. "Memories in your heart forever" I counter.
I gift her one of my Maine fir tree mugs and she offers me a choice of her cherished knickknacks. I chose a small, hand-blown faceted oil pitcher. "I'll think of you every time I use this" I tell her. I take it to put into my own moving boxes upstairs and when I return to where she is, there is a huge, silent, tear slowly ever so slowly running down her cheek. She seems to pretend I cannot see it from the distance as we stand at the opposite ends of the hallway. I pretend the same.
These are not easy times for her. But she is feeling her emotions deeply. Fully. Life is such. Laughter and tears. I admire her fortitude, her strength and courage. "Blanche's Next Big Adventure" is the title of the tiny, pink notebook I gave her to keep track of all the details so she wouldn't spin in circles. I have learned SO much about life and aging from this amazing woman.
Each goodbye now, for her, is the absolute last on this earth.
But I believe that even at 97 there are adventures still to be had.
~
.
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