Sunday, June 2, 2019

an excerpt from a new writing project--- "its a long way to the top"


“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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