Anne

It was only a fall.

As we become older, everything becomes magnified.  Light noise sounds like thunder.  Music playing next door sounds like a Metallica concert.  A bruise becomes a hemorrhage.  Mere stiffness of our joints become so debilitating that walking is an arduous chore.  And a simple fall turns into a catalclysmic collapse.

The aging process is not kind.

There's a reason doctors hestitate to perform surgery on the elderly.  Probably the same reason we don't take newborns skiing. 

I envy those who know or knew their grandparents.  The opportunity to absorb the wisdom of past generations is something I seek.  To revel in the quiet knowledge of a future us is a glimpse we should all pursue. 

I live vicariously through those who tell wonderful stories of their grandparents and I soak in every second I can when I meet someone in that age group because my own grandparents did not find me worthy of meeting them or wanting to know me.


We're always looking up.  As elementary students, we idolize the high school kids.  In high school, we look for validation from those in college.  In college, we thirst for adulthood and the pitfalls and blessings that come with it:  bills, our own family, responsibility.   Then, when we reach that level of "success" or satsifaction, we look to the elderly for wisdom and guidance. 

Once we reach that elderly stage of life, I suppose we simply rewind and bathe in memories as the tepid waters of loneliness engulf us.


Every Saturday for the last three years, mom has worked for Anne.  She cleans her house, gives her showers, and goes to Perkins with her for lunch.

"I'll have the BLT', Anne routinely tells the waitress.

Mom finds that funny.  Menus were never invented for the old. 

Anne is eighty eight years old.  She uses a walker to get around.  If you stare at her long enough, you see the beautiful twenty three year old woman she once was.  If you stare even longer, you see the beautiful eighty eight woman she now is.

Every Saturday night, my mom returns to her own home full of joy.  Probably the only day of the week, she is.  "God, I love Anne.  Something about her is infectious.  That woman, I can't explain it", mom stops mid-thought.... "Anne is something else". 

I don't have many conversations with my mom.  Never have.  The dynamics of our relationship are unusual.  Bring up Anne and mom makes up for all the years of idle talk.  Something about Anne illuminates my mom. 


Five days ago, Anne had plans to spend the day with her daughter and grandkids.  It was a rare Saturday where my mom was not needed.

Early that morning, Anne steps outside, without her walker or cane, to water her modest flower bed.  She finds a certain tranquility in that simple event. 

A slight twist of her ankle and she crumbled to the ground.  Fortunately, a neighbor happened to see her out of the corner of his window and called 911. 

Anne was rushed to the E.R.   "Broken hip and internal bleeding", the doctor tells her daughter.  "Surgery is necessary but risky".  Anne's only daughter implores the doctor to save her.

Five days later.... today... mom receives the phone call she knows all too well.  In typical cyclical fashion, I receive the phone call from her that I know all too well.

"Complications from surgery", mom says as her voice cracks.

"It was just a fall". 

"Anne always spoke kindly about me to others.  Not only did she recommend me to her friends and fellow church members for work but she spoke kindly about me.  Anne always told me I was a good person.  The only person who has ever consistently complimented me or told me I was worth something and that includes my parents.... your grandparents", mom added in a hushed voice.

Then she sighed.


Look, I can be moved over trivial things like TV shows or movies or those emotionally manipulative late night infomercials from St. Jude's Hospital... but when it comes to those rare moments when my own mother breaks her stoic almost robotic disposition and cries, it's profoundly different.  Heartbreaking, really.

Maybe, when we are older and life has slowed down.... When we have stopped looking ahead and up.... Maybe, that is when we recognize the good in others.  Maybe, that is when we say those things we forgot to say prior. 

I don't know why we wait so long. 


Anne will be missed. 

I wish I had known her.