I’ve
inherited a lot of traits from my grandmother (thank you, Jesus). She’s a rock star speller- thanks to her
devotion to crossword puzzles, and I got first runner-up at the spelling bee in
seventh grade. She loves to shop, and
well… it’s no secret that I’m in my element at the mall. Her style is simple and classic and she
carries it with her everywhere- even the golf course. I’ve adopted the simplicity of her favorite
looks- I’d choose a strand of pearls over extravagant diamonds any day. We’re both perfectionists and we love to
dream up a project and see it completed exactly the way we pictured it would
be.
I’d love to
be just like Mammy when I grow up (if I ever do), and although we have a lot in
common, there are some aspects to her personality I have yet to master. Mammy has a serious back bone. I’m serious, don’t mess with her. If Mammy thinks someone is ripping her off or
treating her differently because of her age or because she’s a woman- buckle
your seatbelt. Don’t get me wrong, she’s
not mean, she just demands respect- because she deserves it. I’ll get there…
If I could
be one thing that Mammy is, it’d be patient.
I pray for patience a lot, but you know how God teaches us
patience? He puts us in situations where
we need to be patient when patience is the hardest thing. Married to a man with dementia, Mammy is
faced with those exact situations every single day. And she chooses
patience.
My husband
and I were visiting my grandparents- we were all sitting in the living room
snacking on literally anything Mammy could find in the kitchen to feed us- when
my grandpa started laughing to himself.
Mammy asked him what was so funny.
He was cracking up- tears rolling down his cheeks! Finally he said, “Remember we had that pet
rabbit before the parrot?” We all just
looked at each other… there was once a parrot- a red and green Macaw named
Jolly Bird- but I had never heard of pet rabbit.
“We never
had a rabbit, George,” my grandma said.
“Oh yes we did!” he retaliated.
Mammy rolled her eyes, “honey, no we didn’t.” He was frustrated. “Mary, yes we did. It was a little white one and it’d hop around
the living room, you must not remember.”
Oh, the
irony.
And like a
trained actress, Mammy said, “Oh yes, George!
You’re right! We had a pet
rabbit, I remember.” She was so
convincing that I believed her until she winked at me and mouthed the words,
“we never had a rabbit.”
“Bingo! Two points for George Burke!” Papaw said.
He basked
in the joy of being right and proving her wrong for several moments as he
recalled very specific details about this rabbit.
In 2011,
Mammy was raking leaves in her back yard when she felt some discomfort in her
chest. She thought nothing of it and
finished the job. When she came inside
the pain had intensified and Papaw insisted she go to the hospital. Within minutes of arriving to the hospital,
she flat lined, was shocked back to life, and boarded a helicopter to be
transported to Columbus. At Mount Carmel,
Mammy underwent quadruple bypass surgery, and just days later a blood clot
caused a stroke.
Mammy went
from raking leaves, golfing everyday, shopping on her lunch break, and sewing
her own pillows and curtains to not being able to use her left hand, having to
learn to walk and talk again, and needing assistance for even the simplest
tasks. Her heart attacks, surgery, and
stroke were the ultimate tests of patience… or so she thought.
She is stubborn. She should probably use a walker, but only
uses a cane. She insists on driving when
it’s probably not safe for literally anyone. I’ve walked in her house to find her standing
on a ladder trying to hang a picture because she doesn’t want to have to ask
for help. Her persistence is admirable,
of course, but it’s made taking care of her that much more of a challenge. Enter Papaw.
When Mammy
came home after months in a rehab facility, Papaw was so elated he cried. He went out and bought all the best equipment
to make getting around the house as easy as possible for Mammy, he told the
family how ready he was to take care of her, he even stocked up on Diet Coke-
her favorite.
And take
care of her, he did. For a little while…
until suddenly when Mammy needed particular things at the grocery store, he’d
forget them, or she’d ask him to throw a load of laundry in only to find he’d
put the clothes in the washer and never started it. She was the one reminding him about doctor
appointments and bills that were due… and before long, the tables were turned.
Not only
did this woman have to come to terms with the fact that she would never
physically be the same again, she had to take on the role of caretaker for a
man literally losing his mind.
But she is
patient and she is kind.
I’ve seen
Mammy cry and angrily ask why all of this has happened to her. I’ve seen her get so frustrated she throws
her arms in the air in defeat. But I’ve
also seen her hold my grandpa when he’s brought to tears because he can’t remember
something. I’ve watched her let young
grandkids put their fingerprints on her windows even though it absolutely kills
her inside. I’ve seen her set mouse
traps because my grandpa swears they have mice (seeing dark spots on the ground
is a symptom of dementia).
The
familiar text on love from Corinthians reads:
"Love is
patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not
proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not
self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love
does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It
always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
Mammy is love.
Mammy is love every single day, even when it’s the hardest choice to
make. She is so much more than
patient. She is love.
