Favored Memories
It's difficult to admit now that I sit here and think about it,
I had not thought about her in years. Now she is just a bit of
memory brought forward by a chance remark in a conversation.
However, she was able to step out of that bit of memory that was
hers, as if she was still sitting in the sunroom waiting for me.
It had been my routine to spend a month in the summer with my
grandmother so she could make my wardrobe for the next school
year. Next door lived Mrs. Moses. She though widowed years
before but as many of her generation she endured that loss with
the hallmark intrepidity that kept them going. She was well into
her eighties, however, she kept a little vegetable garden, along
with a few flowers; she still cooked and cleaned her home. My
grandmother, being the junior of the two, looked in on her and
together they would go "up the hill" for ice cream and gossip.
Together they would sit on the porch every evening and watch the
business of the day pass, as well as comment on the state of
young ladies, their lack of decorum.
"Susie, don't you think you should put on some clothes?"
"I'm fine, Grandma, really." Eyes roll up.
"There, that right there, Amy, is why the world is going to
Hades in a three handled basket." Mrs. Moses and Grandma would
both release long tortured sighs. "I just don't know, Amy, we
would never have rolled our eyes at our elders like that. Never."
"And if we did, Millie, it would have been the woodshed." I
never won one of these exchanges so I would cut my loses as
painlessly as possible.
"I'm sorry, Grandma and Miss Millie, I didn't mean any
disrespect," kissing them both, apologizing once more, and
removing my halter-topped, cut-off shorted self before they
could throw a quilt over me.
These were our summers for a number of years, summers and
holidays. Until the fall I came to live with my grandmother to
attend college. It was that year Mrs. Moses' children decided
she would be better off in a nursing home. This, of course, was
for her own good because she would be well taken care of. I
could understand, I guess, if she had slipped into dementia
often categorized by advanced years or if she was physically
impaired but she was as vital and vigorous as ever. My
grandmother was furious! She called mother and my uncle making
them take what just fell short of a blood oath that they would
never cart her off to some home and dump her. After she finished
with them, she turned her attentions to me deeming me the only
grandchild possessing common sense.
"Susie, if you allow anyone to do this to me I promise that I
will come back to haunt you and every generation that issues
from you."
"Yes, ma'am, I would never do that, Grandma, never!" I said with
all the love (ok, fear, the woman could probably make good the
threat) possible.
The added affront was the fact that they did not put her in a
facility close to any of the children nor her hometown. After
the first Christmas, they never visited again.
I made it a habit, albeit a happy one, to stop in and visit Mrs.
Moses at least three times a week, depending on my work and
social schedules. It was some time in the spring that I noticed
the change, so subtle. First, she began to call me "Sissy."
Susie, Sissy, it's Texas, they're the same. However, as the
earth swung into summer she began to talk to me about people I
didn't know, of whom I'd never heard. It wasn't until the
midsummer that I realized that she had fallen back in time. I
was her older sister; together we relived her teenage years.
It was like walking into "The Twilight Zone." She was physically
as healthy as always, age had made her a bit frail, but she was
capable of performing every activity. The only difference was
her surroundings were not the 20th century nursing home but 19th
century Evans. We talked of cotillions, "at homes," debutante
balls, socials, and boys (some things never change). We walked
together as she relived the death of a younger brother to
scarlet fever, of baptisms in the river, of marriages, and
births. Many times I would giggled, as she admitted purposely
showing an ankle or putting rouge on her lips and how old
fashioned "our" parents were.
Probably the sweetest occurred on my wedding day. She was unable
to attend the ceremony. After the official reception was
completed we brought the left over cakes, punch, and most of the
wedding party to the retirement home. She was the belle of the
ball at her "Sissy's" wedding. We danced, we sang, we laughed
and at the end she managed to catch the bouquet.
She lived in this world for seven more years before she went to
join those she loved. I remember at her funeral someone
mentioned how tragic her last days were because all she had was
faded memories. I smiled because I knew they weren't faded
memories, but favored memories.