“This is my story, my giving of thanks.”-Hannah
Coulter by Wendell, page 5
I’d spend all day thinking of her. When I woke up, I’d
tell myself when I could visit her. At mass, I’d pray for her, and add in “I
can’t wait to be with her today!!” to my prayer. Mrs. B or Mrs. McD might ask how she is--- “How is K doing?” they’d say. “Oh she’s great!
We had a great time last night.” I’d say. If I was babysitting, and it was time
to go, I’d get asked where I was off to next, “Oh Mrs. L’s!!” I’d say. Those who knew me and my love for her well,
knew I either came from her house before getting to their house, or I was
motivated and eager to leave their house to get to her. I’d take off driving
just so excited to see her I could hardly contain myself. When things got tough
babysitting, I’d tell myself when I could see her next. As I got closer to
Oregon, all those troubles would melt away—I was going to go see Mrs L!! My
excitement would gather as I turned onto County Road CC, it didn’t matter how
exhausted I was from whatever I was coming home from, I still gathered up fresh
excitement. I really never knew before I walked in the door if we’d have a good
day, or a great day, or a bad day, or a good day gone terrible. There was never
any way of knowing before I got there. So, I always hoped for a good day for
us. I’d park, grab my books, and basically run to the door. I’d knock, “Oh,
It’s Frannie, Frannie’s here” W or M would say and open the door to
me. I’d bounce right over to her, sometimes she’d be watching TV or
“organizing” in her room, I’d bounce over and say “Hi Mrs. L! I missed you!”
she’d look at me, smile, and say “Oh Its you” or “oh Hi there”. She would be so
excited to see me. And then we’d go about our day. If she was already in bed,
I’d sit with her on her bed, or sit on her bed with my legs on the window. If
she was in her wheel chair, she’d make a dash wheeling over to her room, and
I’d follow after her. We mostly had good or great days together, I learned that
an average day is a good day, we had a few bad days, but just a few. We’d read
from A Character Calendar, or Butler’s Lives of the Saints, or the Catholic All
Year monthly booklets, or, our favorite, the 40 Dreams of Saint John Bosco;
we’d say our rosary on our black knotted cord rosaries that I had my friend
make especially for us, and she’d correct me when I stumbled on the Apostle’s
Creed; I’d tell her the feast day of today; I’d dump all of the contents of my
day on her---what babysitting was like, feeding steers, going to daily Low Mass
in Paoli and whatever else I’d have going on—she’d take it all in like such a
champ; I’d ask her what she did that day …. Sometimes we’d flick through the
SmugMug pictures on her iPad, or she’d have me rearrange the mantle, or I’d
take down her reliquaries and we’d bless ourselves with them. Once she even had
me reorganize her closet for her. If I had a question during our visit, I’d
text E. Sometimes J would come over on his way from work, or W and A with some kind of desert, or E and the girls on their way
home from Piano. I was there one time when she got a haircut and it felt like
the good old days of watching my Grandma cut hair. I was there a few times when
T the nurse came, and I really liked P, who came by to wash her hair. We’d
go at it for a half hour or so most days, more than that as often if I could,
and less if I couldn’t stay long. But, really, it didn’t matter what I had
going on that day, I sorted my whole day out making sure I could visit her. I
knew the hours she would most likely be awake—about 11am to about 9pm most
days, I’d have M text me when she was awake, or bug her by me texting her
asking when she was awake. If I was on my way home from babysitting in Verona
or Fitchburg at night and I thought she might still be awake, I’d text M saying, “Is Mrs. L still awake???” A few days I visited her twice in one
day, and twice we got to see each other three times in one day. It was my lucky
day every day I got to see her, and a sad day when I didn’t get to visit her,
but every night, I thanked God for her, and I’d pray to see her tomorrow. Life
was good. When I would leave, she didn’t like it at all. “Why do your steers
have to eat twice a day?!” and “why do you always have to feed your steers?!”
she’d say. She’d thank me for coming, ask when I’d come next and tell me to
come again. I’d hug her (as best as one could hug her), say “bye, Mrs. L.
I love you” and kiss her soft cheek, and she’d do the same to me. If it was
warm out, she’d want to wave to me from the side walk, if she was still inside,
I’d have to raise the blinds half way (and ONLY half way), show her where my
car is, and she’d wave to me from there. I’d leave feeling loved, encouraged
and on such an upbeat. I took the same familiar roads back home—Bergemont
Boulevard, Lincoln Road, Union Road, and Rome Corners road. I’d play songs from
Spotify that reminded me of her. Those nine minutes always seemed to fly by
fast when we had a good time together, and when we didn’t, they were definitely
not enough minutes to regroup!! I’d
smile and remember with joy the great time we had. I’d even get excited to see
her again. At home, I’d text E saying what a great time we had and what
things we did together. If she said anything especially funny, I’d text a
friend or two what she said. If it was later in the afternoon, I’d feed the
steers, and then sit down at my desk and write about our glorious day together.
And, the next day, I’d do it again, and it was the most amazing thing ever.
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