I got home really late tonight, around 11:30PM. I saw the light from her room on, so I smiled as I pulled into our little corner of the neighborhood. She left the light on for me and opened the door slightly ajar from the garage, so that I’d see an indication that someone thought of me. Put together some hot tea and snacks for my Halmoni and I.
She isn’t super strong anymore, but she is full of life, love, will, and vision. When she hugs me real tight, I honestly can hardly feel it. It makes my heart break a lot but I never let her see it. I don’t want her to think I worry about her (in any anxious way) more than I do. Instead I tell her that she’s still got it, and she’s faster than the rest of us. —which, is actually true. Do you know an 88 year old grandmother who can climb over 1000 stairs to get to a mountain top, drive 900 miles to receive one person into World Christian Nursing Foundation, fund the building of Christian clinics and universities just to name a few…? 🙂 I am more than a little bit proud of her. 🙂
Anyway, I was talking about her strength because the ceramic cups feel heavier to me when I use them with her. I become really aware of their shape–unassuming, spatial presence–declarative, and… the weight. They have a solid weight to them when I use them on my own. But when I share with her, I find myself breaking apart the dried cranberries to place them individually into her hand. I find myself trying to simplify the eating process so she can enjoy it with me. She receives this all so graciously, filling our space and hearts with stories and little tidbits about the latest book she is enjoying so thoroughly.
I had planned on sharing a story…. but I’m so tired, I will just leave this post at that, with a question for me with future meal-moments:
What does the ceramic feel like in my hands, and the way I eat the food, when my emotions for the person are ____(fill in the blank)_____?