As a child and to this day, I’ve often wondered what it’s like to grow old. To have lived through the numerous seasons of life and to stand at the edge of it, knowing time is less than before. Each May marks another opportunity to visit with my husband’s family and this year I spent extra time in noticing the older ones among us, especially his grandmother. Such a lady.

And I wonder more about her life as she spoke. In my mind’s eye, I imagine her as a young woman mothering children, attending to the home, serving in the church. I hear in the recounting of long-ago stories the struggle and yet the gladness for it all. The hard work and joyful times. The children’s antics that didn’t sit well with her. And the difficulty of seeing loved ones and dear friends move on in their journey from life to death.

I wondered this year if she is understanding that her memory, at least the short term aspect, is unraveling a bit around the edges. We notice and stay silent. I wonder if she knows and is silent as well.

More than any other year, I took time to notice this precious woman’s home. Each thing in a similiar, or even the same exact place over the numerous years we’ve been family. And I wonder if she likes it that way or just doesn’t notice anymore.

And because I know she is very much looking forward to that day, I often wonder when He’ll call her home. She talks of it, telling us not to miss her :: to let her joyfully depart, to celebrate and not mourn when the time arrives. But it hasn’t yet and we laugh lightly as she speaks.

And I wonder inside if she’s laughing softly as well…