BY PEG O’BRIEN
Grandma Gertie fills me with love as the eucalyptus vapor penetrates my lungs. Simply remembering her ministering to the health of her grandchildren inspires deeper breathing. She would briskly lean the child’s face over the steaming pot of herbs, create a tent from head to pot by draping a flour sack, and demand deep inhalations. The child, though squirming with displeasure at this strange treatment, would obey. Lungs would find greater ease. Hacking would cease, at least for now.
Gertrude Meirick’s medicine bag ran deep and wide. Fresh cuts were treated immediately with a dash of salt; hammered fingers and stubbed toes with ice water soaks; muscle cramps with a fingertip of baking powder under the tongue. The remedy for fingers stuck m the metal latticework of the porch glider was butter and ice; for insect bites, a baking soda paste; for a messy child, charging money. Yes, she charged ten cents per article of clothing found on the floor, including the closet floor. Hers was a tight ship.
She kept track of and responded to every need in the county. Families with new babies, recent disasters, or upcoming nuptials: all found clothes, food, and showers thrown their way. Closer to home, one day on the farm, Grandpa put Gertie to the most extreme test — he hollered that the hired man was gored by the bull. Grandma put a kettle of water on to boil, swept up a load of blankets and bandages, and raced outside. As she hurried so laden past the corner of the barn, she saw Grandpa and the man himself burst out laughing. It was the first day of April. It took her until the second one to recover from fainting, and until at least May to see the humor.
Grandma sewed wedding dresses, curtains, and quilts until deep into the night. She combed journals and news-letters for articles pertinent to her home-making or others’ endeavors, and put out a constant flow of clippings through the mail.
She pressed her own roses for their essence while she pushed herself to do the very most and very best with and for her home and family and community, until one day. Her mouth, that to a child seemed so often wrinkled in disapproval or concentration, began to soften. Rather than assess the material world around her for flaws in need of attention, her eyes began to rest on light and arr. Instead of smoothing down seams and checking buttons, her hands rested on her lap. This switch seemed sudden to a girl living in two states away from her Iowa grandmother.
The nursing home posted a new diagnosis in Gertie’s hard plastic chart: dementia. Grandma Gertie changed into ether. An angel on earth. Conversations with her became a lesson in living in the present. Reference to past or family — or anything that was not evident right in front of her –was confusing and frustrating. Pointed questions, such as, “What did you have for breakfast, Gertie?” or “What is Uncle Dan up to these days?” or “Do you know what my name is?” were not only irrelevant to her now, they were painful. Her mind did not work that way anymore. When forced in this way, she had to leave her ocean of awareness to create a material world from the meager scraps of information at hand. Her struggle to find answers was painful to watch. It was so much nicer to simply be with her, discuss or quietly take in the pleas-ant aspects of the season. the day, the tree, the leaf. Grandma became simply delightful and pleasant. She was most happy in the company of another who was the same. No longer did it matter if clothes were unkempt or hair undone. Instead of tending to the fabric of life, she tuned in to the air: sounds, moods, sensations. If these were comfortable, she rested in contentment.
Occasionally her old style of thinking would search for a perch in her mind. She might rise up and become anxious around visitors and distractedly inquire, were they hungry? Would they like to stay the night? All it took was a simple reassurance to her that of course we were not hungry. It had not been long since she served up a lovely roast, complete with home-baked bread and garden beans. And we would love to stay the night, especially after seeing how cozy and neat her spare bedroom was fixed, but work or meeting required us to move on. Ah. She would relax back into her sea of happiness, comforted to know she had fulfilled the worldly role of gracious grandmother and hostess.
The love received from Grandma Gertie, that in her younger days held an edge of judgment and planning, later was wide with tolerance, compassion, and presence. She taught first worldly, then universal lessons. Thanks to her, no matter the condition of my life or my lungs, I breathe easier.
