Heartfelt Visits

 

Sunday Afternoons with Miss Claire 

Over the last few months, I’ve enjoyed spending Sunday afternoons with a delightful lady named Claire. She is 90+ years young and the stories she’s shared have had me roaring with laughter or tears. She is not a stranger to me. Oh no. I was first introduced to her some thirty-odd years ago.

And what a surprise it had been.

Back then, she was eager to have me tag along to shop with her at a thrift store or window shop in a nearby mall. She loved to cook and share her many recipes, gossip about the neighbors, and the latest movie she’d heard about or seen. Although older than me, she was witty and bright, and her sense of humor was infectious. She loved animals, especially dogs, and they loved her right back! She enjoyed country music and contemporary tunes. She especially liked going to the theatre and off-Broadway musicals. Many dates were made for treks and weekend strolls in the park. Lest I forget, and more importantly, she not only liked her children—she loved them very dearly. Their love gave her tremendous joy and comfort.

And it showed.

She also liked to talk about where she came from, across the ocean many years ago, social issues, and how the day’s politics affected her. She was proud of her heritage and her children’s accomplishments. She was delighted to see her grandchild whenever she got the chance. She didn’t seem to mind that I called her Miss Claire. After all, it is the Southern way of addressing those older than yourself and commands a level of respect.

Even though she was old enough to be my mother, our friendship grew. She became dear to me. But as time often does, I pushed forward with my life and career, losing the ability to visit as frequently as before. But as the years passed, I began to think of her often. I missed her soft, soothing voice and cheerful smile.

As luck would have it, I found her again.

She is older now. Her strength has weakened, but her sense of humor still remains. Her joy of life still cascades over me. And, I find that visiting her is just the thing to fill my cup to the brim. Although she has some difficulty, she is still witty and bright. I wonder if I will be as lucky to have the length of years she possesses and still have the gift of so much love surrounding me as it does her—even now.

What a blessing that would be!

When I greet her, she seems overjoyed and asks about my day, accomplishments, and the many things that have made me happy or sad. Her heartfelt hugs are full of love, and I am grateful to bring her some joy, if only for a little while. Her hands are warm, while mine are cold from the outside. She holds them as if to warm me and, it seems, to feel the essence of just who I am. She studies me and listens well, and I return the favor of listening patiently to whatever she might repeat again.

It’s okay.

I’m sure my story is not the only one like this. Many have loved ones who are still with us today, such as my own mother. The stories and experiences they might share are keepsakes for later telling or applying to our own lives. Their wisdom is insightful and should be listened to and used judiciously. They might be older in years, and the physical may have changed, but their hearts remain the same. The essence of who they are never fades but becomes much more dear with time.

Much of life can meet the criteria of ‘not being for sissies.’ Getting older is one of them.

I cherish my time with those older than myself. How about you? What have you learned along life’s highway that has carried you to the destination you’ve arrived at today? What learning can you pass along to those younger than yourself? I think sharing life’s experiences is a generous gift, and with it carries a great responsibility.

As a guest poet, she has allowed me to share some funny and heartwarming witticisms about life. Does anyone know the amount of time we have left to enjoy more chats like these? I don’t. Until then, she is my special person. A visit with someone I’ve grown to love and treasure. 

Always. 

~DaMarie

Photo Courtesy of James Garcia