A Life Well Lived

I couldn't help but be moved by the words you are about to read. They reminded me of my older sister (now dearly departed) whose final years were spent in a nursing home. Multiple Sclerosis claimed her life at the age of 38. My grandmother turned 100 this past year and she currently lives in a nursing home.

Whether or not the following story is true is inconsequential. If there are people in your life that you love who rely on managed care, please go to SEE them. The young soul within them will rejoice at the footprint they have left on your heart.

---

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.

And now this little old Scottish lady, with seemingly nothing left to give to the world, is the author of this simple, yet eloquent, poem that is traveling the world by Internet. Goes to show that we all leave "SOME footprints in time".....

A Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurses ….. What do you see?
What are you thinking ….. When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old woman ….. Not very wise?
Uncertain of habit ….. With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food ….. And makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice ….. “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice ….. The things that you do,
And forever is losing ….. A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not ….. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ….. The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?? ….. Is that what you see??
Then open your eyes, nurse ….. You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am ….. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding ….. As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten ….. With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ….. Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen ….. With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now ….. A lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty ….. My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows ….. That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now ….. I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide ….. And a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty ….. My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ….. With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons ….. Have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me …..To see I don’t mourn
At fifty once more ….. Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children ….. My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me ….. My husband is dead,
I look at the future ….. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing …..Young of their own ,
And I think of the years ….. And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman ….. And nature is cruel;
Tis jest to make old age ….. Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles ….. Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone ….. Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ….. A young girl still dwells,
And now and again ….. My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys ….. I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living ….. Life over again.

I think of the years ….. All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact ….. That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ….. Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman ….. Look closer …. see, ME!!

~ Author Unknown

Dreamin' Up a Doozie...Ha-Ha!

Thanks to Miriam for her fun title! I owe you one.

Ah, the innocence of babes. My darling (if somewhat still yellow-skinned) boy Bruce has been working on cutting his first tooth, which means low-grade fevers, an alternately runny/crusty nose, mouth tenderness, high-pitched whining, and buckets upon buckets of baby drool. But he's also concentrating hard on learning to walk, testing out his latest high chair discoveries (how many more times can I throw [baby spoon, toy, block, etc.] over the side before mommy stops picking it up?), honing his rad comm skills and formulating opinions about the big issues in his world. (To eat or not to eat what's offered on the spoon, THAT is the question!) He's a busy boy.

The other night, as my husband and I were catching up on TiVo'd episodes of Heroes, a blissfully sleeping Bruce talked in his sleep for the first time. He has laughed and moaned in his sleep before, but never uttered dreamy baby-jabber. He said, "Da da ba waaaaah." Oh, it makes a mommy proud. (What was he saying, I wonder?)

He has started responding back to our questions and statements to him with purposeful jabber, if not clear words. Sometimes I swear it sounds like he's saying, "no" or "woah" or other easy words. But he's pretty much got the elocution down pat. What he lacks in diction he makes up for in finger-pointing. So it's a rather exciting time for us parents as Bruce communicates his wishes, wants and needs through early sounds and gestures (not the old reliable method, crying).

Speaking of finger-pointing as a language skill...

Walking through the mall on a window-shopping trip recently,Todd and I giggled to ourselves as we watched Bruce gazing at all the holiday bling and sparkle. He rode wide-eyed through the mall in his stroller with both index fingers in permanent point, as if to say, "Whatever the next marvel is, I'm ready for it." Maybe he was pretending to be a gunslinger in the Old West? Nah, he's too young to be playing Billy the Kid. But it sure does get him whatever he wants.