Legacy of Dignity

After Awhile

After awhile you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.

(Veronica A. Shoffstall, Copyright 1971)

The morning before she met me at the airport, my eldest sister wrote, “This Grandmother of ours proceeds, as the poem says, 'with the grace of a woman not the grief of a child.' She inspires.”

When we celebrate her next birthday in a month, Grandma will begin the third year of her second century on this earth. She was widowed twice by the time I was born, and has lived the more than fifty years since alone, an independent woman. She drove until she was 94, or possibly even older; and began using a walker just this year, after a fall and the first hospital stay since she gave birth to her children.

My father’s sister has lived in the same city all these years, and has been able to give Grandma much of the support she’s needed. A few months ago, when my aunt became gravely ill, Grandma allowed that it was time for her to make a home somewhere others could tend to some of her needs.

When I arrived to help with Grandma’s transition to assisted care, my father had already been there for two weeks. He worked tirelessly through the days to help her clear decades of accumulated artifacts, and make choices about which of her belongings she most cared to bring as feathering to her new nest. He handled endless details in his quiet and competent way. Like Grandma, my dad, at 81 years, is made of tremendous dignity and grace and strength.

My sister continues this legacy, selflessly traveling for hours at a time to be with Grandma over the years. She has helped guide our family through the truths of what eventually needed to happen.

We don’t just say goodbye to people, but to places, particular times in our lives, and even aspects of ourselves. Grandma has said goodbye to two beloved husbands; countless friends passed before her; freedom to attend the church she and her husband brought to life and nurtured.

She’s said goodbye to how she loved to use her hands for needlework and cooking, no longer agile from years of arthritis. She’s said goodbye to reading and to enjoying the visible beauty of this world, as she has lost most of her eyesight. She’s said goodbye to the homes she has lovingly made and cared for.

Through these innumerable goodbyes, Grandma has maintained unshakable faith; dignity in how she cares for herself; and grace in how she treats others. As I plant my own garden and decorate my own soul, I can only hope the golden threads of this legacy survive in me and the goodbyes I’ll experience throughout my life.