Our recent east coast rendevous included a trip to see my grandmother, just in time to celebrate her 88th birthday. I hadn't been here for three years, and truthfully, wasn't planning on returning this summer at all. It had only been an odd combination of a wedding in Pennsylvania, coinciding with my brother in law's famliy reunion (that brought my sister into town too,) that had spurred me to join the party last minute.
My Gram and Grandpa live in a cute house on a beautiful lake, and for as long as I can remember, I've sat on the dock and soaked in the beauty of my surroundings every time I visit. Yes, the lake seems smaller now than it did 30 years ago (and the house too,) but the pair of Geese that returns every Spring is just as elegant (and still don't like me), and the water that laps at the tethered paddle boat makes the same sound.
My Grandmother's memory is fading fast. She does okay with things that happened many years ago, but it seems as if the memory lot is all filled up, complete with a thought cop who directs any new experiences to the nearest exit. She also tires easily, and doesn't do well with lots of visitors, so I knew whatever time I was going to spend with her on this visit would have to be quick. It also meant she probably wouldnt remember much of the visit, if at all. What she DID remember, though, and she told me many times that day, is that she had sat on her patio swing until midnight the evening before, because the night had been so gorgeous.
And so we sat in that same place. And we took it in.
We didn't discuss much more than weather and wildlife: the recent Michigan heatwave, the latest family of Geese to move in at the end of the dock, how amazing the last snowfall had been. This was probably a good thing, as I had feared the "goodbye" moment. My grandma has for a long while been very "matter of fact" about her remaining time in this life. She's been giving away small things here and there to my sister and I for quite a few years, so it wouldnt have been weird for use to brooch the subject. But we never did.
I knew it was to be my last time at the lake, at least the last time I'd sit there with her next to me. But I don't think she knew. Not anymore, at least.
So I let my kids go out in the boat as many times as they wanted, and get as high as they could on the swing, so that they might have some of the same memories to store in their still unfilled heads that I have.
And I took pictures. :)
Of course, as this day wore on, the lake changed. And so I took one last picture, because I knew I'd never see it this way again either.
You know what's funny? I bet the lake looks EXACTLY like this as I type this sentence. It's currently evening-time on Huntoon Lake, when the sun sets, the water calms, and the porch lights start spotting the shoreline.
I'm not there, but I can tell you my Grandma is, still taking it all in. I bet she's sitting in the same chair, watching the same Geese, and talking with Gramps about how beautiful tonight is.
