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Grandmother Alma" 1908-2006 by Charles B. Maclean |
"She looks a lot like my favorite, late Aunt Alma," I thought as I walked down the aisle at the Church in Portland, Oregon, and I was magnetically drawn to a sprightly, silver- haired woman. I sat down next to her. She introduced herself saying, "Hello, I'm Alma." Coincidence? I prefer to believe it was something more. Thus began our serendipitous relationship. For sixteen years Alma and Ward were my adopted grandparents of choice. Married 64 years, they personified amazing aging with grace, the kind I seek for myself. I found it by just being around them. |
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Once
Alma asked me, "Do you wonder why I'm still living at 92?" She,
as usual, knocked my socks off saying, "I'm still alive to teach
others that aging can be wonderful. In fact, I'm making these the
best years of my life. And today is the best day of my life because
I choose to make it that way . . . and it's about time you did the
same."
One never-to-be forgotten Sunday, she nudged me gently in
the ribs with her southern belle elbow and whispered during the
middle of the minister's sermon, "Charles, you're not responsible
for my happiness!" While I was still in shock, she sweetly whispered,
"No one else is responsible for my happiness except me . . . but
you do contribute to it." She flashed a smile and turned away
as if nothing had been said and went back to listening to the
sermon. . . . .having just delivered her own sermon to me. |
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And Ward, he was the steady provider. He was the listener that
gave Alma's independence wings. Ward had the biggest ears literally
and figuratively and was the best listener . . . and Alma gave him
a lot to listen to. He was the man of countless frequent flyer,
riding-lawn-mower-miles. He was the quiet wit and wisdom that balanced
Alma's frequently verbalized wit and wisdom. And what a love Alma
and Ward had for each other. She said of Ward, "He was the wind
and I was the lotus and he blew me to places I could never have
gone alone." |
| Frequently they were asked, “What is the secret to staying
married 64 years?” Both would reply, “We learned what to overlook”.Each
wedding anniversary they bought each other a memory-maker present. |
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One year I was summoned, and I did heed the summons, to try
out their latest anniversary gift. It was one of four stone benches
placed in a special part of their garden. They are our ‘listening
and appreciative looking at each other‘benches’” she told me. Nearby
was a reference point. When you can point to a 65-foot redwood tree
that you planted as a 6-inch seedling, it gives you something tangible
against which to measure the length and growth of one’s marriage. |
| At 5:00am Ward would bring Alma her first cup of coffee before
she got out of their bed to spend many hours in the rose garden.
Alma had already read the inspirational Daily Word in English, Spanish,
French, and German. She had been studying Greek and Hebrew just
to keep her hand in languages [make that 12 languages studied].
Most recently, she had been memorizing the Lord’s Prayer in Polish,
noting cultural differences as she went along. |
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| After some 64 years of gardening Alma recently decided to devote her time to reading and watching the gardener do much of what she used to do. Many of Alma’s friends urged her to get back to gardening, believing it would be healthy and keep her engaged with life. Alma’s wisdom that arrived just in time for me, came out like this, “People only see their desires for me and ignore my desires for myself.” How often I’ve done the same, thinking, “I know what’s best for you” rather than, “You know what’s best for yourself – tell me what you want for you.” |
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One
year Ward asked me to drive him to his favorite
spot on the Clackamas River. He had made the decision on his own
to stop driving and let go of a cherished independence. He did it
with quiet anguish and grace that I can only hope to learn from.
As I drove, Ward acted as navigator directing me to stop at all
the places along the river where he and Alma had watched sunsets,
sipped coffee, and, I suspect, romanced over the years together.
At one bend in the river we paused to view cascades of wild blue-green
water. He pointed and said matter of factly, “This is where I want
my ashes spread.” A few years ago, December, Ward died. He was ready. When I learned of his passing, I called Alma and asked if I might come over to be with her. She said, “Yes, but I won’t be able to pay you much attention.” Even in her grief she was both gracious and setting healthy boundaries. |
| Upon arrival I found her sitting, making a list. When I asked her what she was writing, she said, “I’m writing down what I’m thankful for. Even today I have a lot to be thankful for . . . and so do you . . . and don’t forget it.” Some time later she confided that “grieving is a special blessing because it helped me discover my strength. I didn’t know how I could take losing Ward after all our years together. Remember, prolonged grief doesn’t help anyone. Now, the only thing I allow myself to tear about . . . is sudden joy. I burst out in tears when I saw that the trillium plant you gave me last year had divided into two.” |
| About
her personal theology. Alma was raised with a Methodist literal
interpretation of the Bible. Now Alma is coming to believe that,“The
Ten Commandments were an outgrowth of peoples’ higher-selves coming
into realization.” She says, “The Bible says it was the ‘Finger
of God’ that wrote them. But if God created man in his own image,
then the spirit of God within man could have created the Ten Commandments.
If they were just a set of rules imposed from “on-high” - people
would have trouble keeping them. When they come from within, they
were not forced on man but appealed to our inner nature. Man profits
from honoring them. I believe Moses did go alone up the mountain
and formulated them but the inspiration for them came from peoples’
own spiritual inheritance from God. God helped me with this interpretation”.
Alma says. “If one reads ancient history, one will find inklings
of this philosophy across many religious traditions.” Now that’s
a questing soul, unafraid to question her childhood beliefs and
craft her own. And her core belief for herself is, “I instinctively
do the right thing whether I intend to or not. That is God’s plan
for me.” Again and again she imparted therapeutic wisdom with a light touch. I once had gotten upset about a minor matter. She just looked at me kindly with a smile and soul-sizzling zeal and said, “My grandson is bigger than that.” |
| Riding her first carousel at age 90 triggered a long-standing
desire to have her own carousel horse. So she had one carved. Her
horse, “Moonglow” was installed in the middle of their living room.
“Sometimes Moonglow comes alive while I’m sleeping,” said Alma.
“I know, because he has bucked off the doll I had perched on his
saddle. I was sternly admonished to not give her any more material presents. At that time Alma was consciously giving her prized possessions to others. She wanted to savor loved ones enjoying her gifts while she was still alive. "But you can still give me love and ‘experiences’ like another carousel ride,” she said. |
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When asked why she believed the world was out to do her good,
Alma told a story.“I was born,during the typhoid epidemic that killed
many in my village near Little Rock, Arkansas. You see, I became
the loved one to replace the lost loved ones. I was welcome in any
garden, welcome at any kitchen table, and welcome to pick fruit
off any tree. I was spoiled with love. I have lived ever since as
if that is my birthright . . . to be loved wherever I go. I can’t help it that this has been my script for life. So, I’ve always been a free soul. I started that way at birth. We all can. I always ate all the sweets I wanted. I had a guardian angel from birth and mine is so pleasant to get along with.” Alfredo Muro music: 2 of 3 |
| Once, the woman who I believed was to be my life-mate, went away. I asked Alma to pray for me. She said, “You know God listens to me.” Alma then asked, “What do you want me to ask for from God?” I replied, “That this woman will come back into my life.” Alma’s gentle reply was, “I won’t do that! It would be arrogant for me or you to think we know better than God what’s best for you in this situation. I can only ask that divine guidance be given to you and that you have the wisdom to accept it.” She prayed the words, “Thy will be done” My arrogance was tempered by her trust in the Creator. |
| Over the years, I introduced many friends to Alma and Ward. Each time Alma noticed something of merit to say to that friend to make them feel authentically acknowledged and unique. After a first time meeting, Alma went home and wrote down positive impressions in her journal. The next time they would meet, Alma would recall and re-tell that “memory peg.” The glue of feeling loved is strengthened. Alma said, “Most of our old friends are no longer living. I’ve always carefully cultivated new friends of all ages, like I do my roses, so I’ll always be surrounded by beauty.” |  |
| In 1994, they
invited me, as a non-blood relative, to the family reunion. I said
“yes” and then got an invitation to go sailing on Puget Sound. With
some hesitation I told Alma that I would be missing the reunion and
why. She just smiled in her knowing way and without a moment’s
hesitation said, “I’m so glad that you feel so secure in my love
that you’re going to do what you most want to do.” Grandparent love
like that just doesn’t get any better. Ever the lifelong learner, Alma decided at gae 91 to learn about basketball so she could converse intelligently with her other- in-law and hoopster, Uncle Jack. After coming to learn the game, she stayed in love with Portland Blazers. After the hometown team blew the championship she quipped, “You can’t say they’re losers because you have to have a loser in order for there to be a winner.It’s the loser that makes the winner possible. God doesn’t count the score; he just counts the way you played the game.” |
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It could be that the next reader friendly printing of the Bible
will be called the “Alma’s Version” and include her quotes: |
| The truth is that
each time I was with Alma, I came away loving myself more for having
been around her love. I am also more capable of giving and receiving
love. This year on my birthday Alma said, “Charles, I want to give you the same kind of gift that I gave my other grandchildren on their birthday. And I want you to know that it gives me even more pleasure to give it to you than you’re going to experience in receiving it from me.” |
| Alma
was fiercely independent and heaven help anyone who told her to
slow down or got too helpful. One spring while walking with Alma
in the woods holding her arm she stopped, smiled and said, “Charles
you’ll have to take bigger steps and walk faster because otherwise
people will think I’m old and dotterie.” And we did. Once during our daily phone conversation Alma apologized for having to sign off quickly because a neighbor was at the door with her latest supply of classics and other challenging books. She explained, “I have to keep reading to make sure my intellect doesn’t moss over.” Indeed it didn't. Alfredo Muro music: 3 of 3 |
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| One summer Alma fell in the rose garden and broke her leg. After lengthy rehabilitation in her son and daughter-in-law’s home she said,“Staying with my son and daughter-in-law as I was recovering was such a gift because I got to see close up again and again their caring for me, how much they love each other. Now, my bags are packed and I’m ready to meet God and rejoin Ward. If I hadn’t had these challenges to deal with in the last months I couldn’t have gotten into heaven.” |
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Alma’s latest instruction to me was, “Charles, I’m not going
to live forever. You don’t have to like it but get used to it. I
want you to promise me that you won’t grieve for me, or at least
not too much when I’m gone. Rather, I want you to celebrate who
we were for each other.Aren’t we glad we knew each other.” Update: In October last year, Alma had a stroke but the stroke doesn’t have her. She lost one of the capabilities she was most proud of . . .her ability to speak at length and clearly. With great effort she managed to piece together the words, “Tell my friends I’m having a bad day and . . . I’m happy as ever.” Later she said, “I think I’m going to heaven but I’m in no rush today.” |
| Miracles happened regularly for Alma and for me when I was
in her presence. As she reminisced about favorite rose gardens,
she mentioned a Portland garden she had driven by for forty years.
It turned out that we had both been captivated by the garden that
was part of an Architectural Digest type Mediterranean -Moroccan
home with what Alma called “bronze lace gates”. On a lark, I stopped next door to our mutual fantasy rose garden. I asked the man who lived there about the garden and who lived next door there. He told me that the owner had recently lost her husband, just as Alma had lost Ward. He described the owner as gracious and gave me her name and address. I wrote a note to our rose lady telling her of my Grandmother Alma’s fantasy of looking into her garden. Within days I received a call inviting both of us to tea. Without revealing the invitation, I kidnapped Alma for a ride in the sun. I drove to the street in front of the “bronze lace gates” and saw Alma’s eyes ignite with joy. As I entered the grand circular drive Alma’s exclaimed, “We can’t go in here, they haven’t invited us.” I responded,“But they have invited you.” The gates opened and we were met by one of Portland’s most gracious grand dames and her daughter. Alma was beside herself with awe. In a few moments the women had connected in a way that only those who have experienced decades of shared joy and grief can appreciate. Being in their company was incomparable. Their authenticity and transparency on first meeting melted my sox. Later over tea in the garden room they deepened their knowing of each other and exchanged confidences that I would have never been privy to otherwise. Upon parting these two women of distinction embraced . . . and my world was the better for having seen them together. From time to time I was invited back to the warmth, wonder and welcome of this woman who opened her “bronze lace gates” to my Grandmother. |
| Just
prior to her stroke, Alma had been studying the Basque language with
an elderly tutor. After her impairment, she kept asking about the
Basque people and country. Shortly thereafter, I met Anita, a third generation delightful young Basque woman. I told Anita of Alma’s love of things Basque. Without a movements hesitation, she agreed to visit Alma. We arrived on the first really warm day of spring, bundled Alma up and walked her to her favorite bench looking into the redwood tree and rose garden. |
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| Now Anita
had been a folk dancer since age four and, like a forest sprite,
she began to dance for Alma. Never have I seen a more immediate
gush of unembarrassed, full body, tears of joy. Alma and Anita had
bonded beyond words. Martha Graham was right,“Children, they know
how to dance before they know there is music.” Alma, like all of
us, came into this world dancing from the womb and there is no doubt
in my mind that she left this world dancing, if only visible from
within. Late in her life, Alma had a stroke but the stroke didn’t have her. She lost one of the capabilities she was most proud of . . .her ability to speak at length and clearly. With great effort she managed to piece together the words, “Tell my friends I’m having a bad day and . . . I’m happy as ever.” Later she said, “I think I’m going to heaven but I’m in no rush today.” On January 5, 2004, during a visit with Alma at the nursing home, she brightened up and exclaimed, “I've had such wonderful blessings all my life, I hope I have always been a good blessing to you. I always want to be happy for you. |
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Alma’s
last instruction to me was, “Charles, I’m not going to
live forever. You don’t have to like it but get used to it.
I want you to promise me that you won’t grieve for me, or at
least not too much when I’m gone. Rather, I want you to celebrate
who we were for each other. Aren’t we glad we knew each other.”
During the last years Alma has been sleeping more and slowly winding down with increased peacefulness. Her memory sometimes faded. During a recent visit after talking with me for 15 minutes she stopped suddenly . . . looked at me quizzically and asked . . . "Now tell me again, who are you and why I love you?" If that's memory loss . . . it's the kind I plan to have some day. |
| Alma passed away peacefully on Monday, June 12, 2006 |  |
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Music
graciously contributed by classical guitarist, Alfredo Muro. Musical
selections reproduced with permission of the artist.
To hear more contact him use: www.alfredomuro.com The song links again: Track10 Track13 Track17 |
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© 2001-2006, Charles B. Maclean, PhD, All rights reserved. Charles B. Maclean PhD, 9601 NW Leahy Road, Suite 302 Portland, OR 97229-6385 Tel: 503.297.1490 e-mail comments to: advocate@philanthropynow.com http://www.philanthropynow.com/ |
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