Well, actually there’s quite a few places like home. There’s even more of them that could be called “home” and that’s where there was a bit of confusion last night.
First a bit of background. My grandmother is in her 90’s, and not in the best of health. She’s in an “assisted living facility” or, in non-newspeak terms, a nursing home. She has some trouble getting around, especially getting into or out of vehicles. She’s got a really nifty simple device, basically a polished plywood board that she can use to slide herself from her wheelchair to a car seat or a sofa or a chair. It’s really boosted her mobility and after having used it for a while, she’s a lot stronger than she had been. The trouble is, what ever she’s sliding into has to be about the same height as her wheelchair. My mom drives a van, so when she needs to drive grandma around she usually borrows one of my uncle George’s cars.
Well, earlier this week, grandma’s older sister Ruth passed away. Ruth had been ill for a while, so although sad, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Mom drove down to help grandma with whatever she might need. Unfortunately, uncle George is on the west coast visiting his kids out there, so mom couldn’t borrow a less awkward car and last night was one of the funeral home visitations.
Not a problem. I was going to drive up for that, and my sister was going up for the actual funeral, so we could chauffeur grandma around in our vehicles as needed. A couple of quick phone calls later and it was arranged. My Fiancee and I would drive up, meet up with my mom at the home, we’d bundle grandma into my car, and the other two would follow in mom’s van with the wheelchair.
My Fiancee and I spent some quality time with my grandma, talking about the various cousins in all of the pictures in her room. Meanwhile, grandma is getting more and more anxious about where my mom is… “I was expecting her back by now. She’s never late…” We all decided to mosey outside and enjoy the spring weather while waiting. Plus, it gave grandma some extra time to get into the car. We waited for a little while longer and finally decided to lay the back seat down and load the chair into the back. My fiancee would wait at the nursing home, I’d drop grandma off with the cousins and aunts at the funeral home, then I’d circle back for her.
During the drive over, grandma had a bit of a sniffling fit, envisioning horrifying car crashes or some kind of dreadful accident that had killed my mom, since that was the only reason she could possibly be late… I got her to calm down, pointed out that mom was an excellent driver, that she knew the town like the back of her hand, and that if it was as big an accident as she was envisioning we’d see the smoke and flames from here, or at least hear the sirens. Grandma’s sniffles and worries turned to annoyance pretty quickly when we got to the funeral home and we saw mom’s van parked there…
The more astute among you will have figured out the problem already… Saying that “We’ll meet at the home” without including the word “funeral” or “nursing” was the key… I went to the place I was more familiar with and mom went to the place that she’d given me directions to… Still, it all worked out. We met with the cousins and such, reminisced about aunt Ruth, marveled at her childhood photos and wedding pictures and all of her church mementos, especially the big German certificate that she had from her Christening back in 1910.
There were some sniffles, but not a lot of tears. People getting together to reminisce seems somehow healthier than people getting together to mourn. I think age has something to do with it. When someone who’s ninety dies, you can look back and remember fondly what their life was like. You can look back and enjoy the experiences you had. When a younger person dies, you mourn, because you look forward and wonder about what their life could have been.