“My mother’s 89… She fell and broke a leg.” Hence, Mrs. S went to Indiana to visit. She’s a middle-aged co-teacher from the middle school.
“I don’t wanna grow old,” Mrs. S repeats. And so we talk about aging and nursing homes as I wait for my rolling sheets in the washer.
I tell Mrs. S a very dear friend gave me the anthology “When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple,” while a very dear sister gave me Yoshimoto’s “Kitchen”.
“Something to read on the plane,” each said.
So I checked in my very thick textbook and finished these two before my 19-hour grueling flight was over. In the background was a buzzing engine, or shuffling feet and silent anxieties in airports between flights.
Yes, these books are about Aging, Dying and Mourning. But these words won’t give Mrs. S any relief, so I just stick to “aging”. And I don’t tell her that I hid from people the cover page of “When I Am an Old Woman…” as the words show in my face anyway. I just don't wear purple.
Words can really hurt sometimes… And now I’m just so glad that Mrs. S has done drying; I can’t stop her from growing old anyway.
So on my way home, I muttered “Dang it! What ugly words to deal with this time.” This, despite my being a firm believer in “Death as a thief in the night…”
For at 30, I thought I was ready, but Europe was lovely.
Then at 40, I thought I was ready, but America said don’t dilly dally.
And friends and relatives aren’t getting any younger. I thought I just had to see them.
So off I went…
And came back to miss those who had come and gone ahead.
And what am I thinking now? I want to feel the pyramids, the stonehenge, the great wall, the Everest… next. Feel the powers that made them…
Do I have time?
The snapdragons are amazing survivors. The yellow mums are struggling.

The little holly tree and the little pine tree are half-dead. The hardworking purple dianthuses have died.
The transplanted red roses didn’t make it either…
Through this summer’s rage, not a tear from heaven.
And what am I doing now?
Reviving them, I guess.
While trying not to mourn.
Jamison/07/25/07
No comments:
Post a Comment