I had clear expectations as to how this would unfold. I was going to deliver this lonely elderly woman’s lunch to her, in her sweet little granny room at the nursing home. She’d smile when she saw me – a youth – walk through the door, interrupting the sound of the ticking grandfather clock – a family heirloom. She’d just be grateful for a little companionship on this sunny afternoon. I would gently touch her arm and say “Hi Mrs. Featherbottom! I’m Lauren. And this is your lunch for today,” smiling, as I laid out the delicate angel hair pasta, the healthy vegetable, and the chocolate bread pudding. We’d chitchat about her day and how I should live every moment to its fullest, she’d say. She would know. She’s so wise and wonderful.
I’d say I should go and let her enjoy her meal. She’d ask if I’m coming by tomorrow. I’d say I hoped so! I’d gently touch her arm to reassure her that we’re all in this together somehow. And we’d knowingly exchange twinkles in our eyes, as I waved goodbye and lovingly closed her door, sort of tucking her in, for the afternoon. I’d walk away, my heartstrings tugging with thoughts of my own Grandmothers. One who is in a nursing home, and the other who is probably reading this story right now. I miss them so much.
And then, the opposite of that happened.
Opposite. Continue reading