When Geoffâ€™s grandma calls me, I never answer the phone.
No, wait, itâ€™s not what you think. I love Geoffâ€™s grandma. For simplicity, letâ€™s call her Grandma. Grandma is everything that my Bubbie wasnâ€™t. Sheâ€™s loving, kind, friendly, funny. Sheâ€™s delightful. Iâ€™ve felt close to her since Geoff and I started dating. Honestly, she inspires me with the way that she loves her kids, grandkids, even her husband. Sheâ€™s a great role model, and Iâ€™ve told her so.
But something about her scares me.
Grandma is pushing ninety. Sheâ€™s been in good but not perfect health for the last ten years or so. About seven years ago, Grandma and Grandpop were in a car accident that left them each with various ailments. Still, they hang in there, and they are always, without fail, happy to hear from us and ready to welcome us for a visit. They both adore the kids. Grandma still gets down on the floor to play with them.
A couple of years ago I started shutting her out.
We were at her house for a visit, and Grandma started to feel dizzy. She went up to her bedroom to lie down and a little while later she called me upstairs. Me, not Geoff, not Grandpa, not even her own grown daughter. I found her lying on the bed next to her blood pressure machine. Her blood pressure was too high, she told me. She didnâ€™t want to go to the hospital, and she asked me to stay with her. I sat on the edge of her bed, held her hand, and put my other hand on her shoulder. We took deep breaths together.
I was scared.
I told her that she would be alright, and after about half an hour her blood pressure returned to normal. The next day she paid a visit to the doctor. She made a quick recovery and the rest of our visit was just fine. Youâ€™d never have known anything had happened.
But I did.
When I was sitting with Grandma up in her room, I had the strangest feeling. With my hands on her and us breathing together, I felt like I was giving her some kind of a transfusion. A life transfusion. I could feel the energy passing between us, even though I didnâ€™t understand it. In the moment, I could only think in dichotomies. If I was giving her life, then she must be giving me death in return. I didnâ€™t want death. I still donâ€™t.
From then on, things were different between us.
When she calls, I donâ€™t answer. I tell Geoff to call her back. I still love her, and we visit. The kids send her artwork. Still, Iâ€™ve been stingy with her. I havenâ€™t let her hear my voice, I havenâ€™t given her any more life. Iâ€™ve closed myself, as if life were a special gift of mine and death a curse of hers, rather than both being realities that we share.
Iâ€™ve been wrong.
I hope that I can find the courage to be open with her again. I hope that I can do the small things that she requests as she gets closer to the end of her life. I hope that she will trust me to help her.