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Through My Grandmother’s Eyes My parents drove my grandmother and three year old nephew, from Florida, where they reside, as a surprise to celebrate my 40 years of life. It had been a year since we had last looked into each other’s eyes and felt each other’s touch. Over the past year my grandmother’s eyesight had slowly been failing and she strains to see, even on the sunniest of days. This is difficult for me to cope with as I remember her as a spry, outgoing, and lively woman who loved to dance, play the piano, help others in need whenever she could, and who attended church regularly. Now, as I see my aging grandmother, standing before me, I see an elderly woman who had a tough life. She’s a woman who never had much as a child, since her parents could not afford luxuries. She lost her mother just days before she was to deliver her first child. She lived through the Great Depression years, struggling each day to raise four young children. She gave love and support to the man she married, but in return, was hardly noticed and most certainly not appreciated. She battled cancer, and survived. My grandmother, over the years, was abandoned by some of her very own children, and I could only imagine the heartbreak and sorrow she must carry. A woman whose spouse of 65 years has left her alone and now resides in a nursing home, never to return. And now, in her twilight years, a woman whose eyes are weak and whose body is pained with arthritis, a woman who has lost her ability to do all the things in life she truly desires; playing the piano, dancing, reading a book, cooking, sewing and making things for others and going to mass every week to pray. As I looked into my grandmother’s eyes, standing before me, I prayed she would see me smiling at her. She must have because she squeezed me tight and smiled back. I helped her into my home and we sat and talked for hours, just like old times. My grandmother reminisced of days gone by, the good times and the bad as she kept her head held high. I have heard these stories many times before and on this day, as I listened and looked into her eyes, I realized that this woman is the strongest person that I know. She is a fighter and will not give up. She is stronger than I could ever hope to be. It was time for my grandmother to leave and return home. Over the past few days we had shared secrets, reminisced our past and simply held each others hands. We both know that no one can predict the future and who knows when or if we will see each other again. Our time was precious. I know that God works in mysterious ways. I know that many others have much more severe hardships than I or my grandmother. It’s just so hard to understand why a woman like my grandmother who has done so much, having been given so little, has had to endure the loss of her eyesight, and the associated joys of seeing her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up. As we waved goodbye and I watched their car drive away, tears fell from my eyes. It is hard for me to understand how my grandmother can keep smiling and say she has had a happy life. Through her eyes, each day of life is a blessing and she still looks forward to making a new friend or receiving a phone call from someone who cares. I know she hopes and prays only for happiness in my life, and in return, I can only hope to see and live life through my grandmother’s eyes. Paula Schmitt is a writer and mother of five children, four sons and one daughter, living in Central Vermont. Her columns and essays have appeared in The Herald of Randolph, Adopting for Tomorrow magazine, JustForMom.com, SanityCentral.com, ThePhilosophicalMother.com and many other publications. She is currently working on a fiction novel and a non-fiction parenting book. She can be reached at pj5@sover.net. Her personal website is www.paulaschmitt.com. |
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