i ran out the door, silent.
we drove to elkhart today, minutes after first service got out at church. I slept most of the way, a good move that gave me some rest but left my back feeling like an odd sculpture.
we arrived at the nursing home where grandpa is staying -- found him in his room slouced in the chair, looking fuller of face than we last saw him at his old home. 'grandpa and grandma's house.' it's soon to be sold. within days, in fact, and he furniture will be given away to a friend-of-a-relative in need. the smells, the textures, the nooks and crannies... gone. or at the very least, someone else's. the dim echoes of laughter and card games. the tearing of christmas paper. the shouts at bowl games.
we talked to him for hours, and i bit my lip. his memory is failing, but not in the way one would think. events are clear and crisp in his mind, as vivid as yesterday's news. but they are disconnected, divorced from any linear framework. he may recall events from the 40's and think they happened yesterday, while referring to last month's building project as something that he did decades ago.
the memories are there, but the links that pull them together are severed.
On the way out, a woman... white-haired and stooped, with a slack mouth and wrinkled skin... She clutched at my sleeve as I passed and stared into me with watery green eyes. She babbled quietly in another language, pleading at me with her look. I couldn't understand her -- either could the staff -- and I just took her hand in mine, holding it and meeting her eyes. she clutched my hand, squeezing tighter than her bony wrists should've been able to. more incomprehensible words, her eyes darting to mine. they seemed slavic, but i had no idea beyond that -- after a moment she reached up, brushed my cheek with shaky fingers, and i ripped inside. I stooped down, meeting her in a hug, careful not to break her, like a bird. or china. cursed myself for not knowing what more to do than smile and squeeze her hand.
one of the staff offered to take her away, and i couldn't answer. She finally pulled away, releasing my hand as an orderly distracted her.
i ran out the door, silent.




Jeff, this never ceases to
Jeff, this never ceases to touch my heart. You did alot. You love deeply, you feel deeply. You have compassion. Out of that compassion you touched her, you looked into her eyes even though it was painful for you to see her in that condition... not knowing what you could do to help her. I think you did alot...you didn't recoil, you received her touch, you looked at her and smiled. Who knows, maybe that brush on your cheek was her way of showing care...of offering something to you, and in that...received something for herself. Scripture talks about giving a cup of cold water to a thirsty person. I think you did that. You have no idea the impact. I know it wasn't easy, but I think God smiled because of the love you offered her. We're so glad we know you! And so thankful you're our son! We love you :)
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