The last time I saw her, she had been vibrant, full of vigor and sort of reminded me of a beautifully aging hippy, yet not. She drove an old VW bug well into her nineties, and bought that baby brand spanking new. Maybe that is the only reason she reminded me of a hippy, otherwise nothing but pure elegance and good living reflected back from this gal. She was my piano teacher when I was a kid, all my siblings as well. I don't remember too much from the lessons, "Heart and Soul" was probably as far as I got. I played by ear, just didn't know it then to my great frustration and I am sure hers. But.... she was nothing but patient. When we were finished with our lesson, that was the best part, milk and cookies waiting.
My mom asked if we could stop by the house she is now living in, not five minutes from her own home, even on the same street. I didn't know what to expect as we walked in, she had broken her hip in the past year, several other things, or how many people lived here. As I approached her the first thing I noticed, frail, tiny hands, those same beautiful hands that taught me piano, now seemed so lost. She seemed even more beautiful, in the purest way.
My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other as she grabbed our hands and just held on like a child.
It was so sweet as I looked into her eyes and saw such love and goodness. I have always liked her, but never was able to be close to her as this moment. She was very active and perky are the only words I could use to describe her, very self sufficient. She had been a widow for many years, buried a son, raised three other children, I just always saw such strength.
Today, now as she held on, I felt her hands, wrists so fragile I was careful not to grip her too hard,
yet something was tugging at me hold on, don't let go. I dug around in my purse, (women and our bottomless pits of things) I knew I'd recently bought a really delicious smelling hand lotion and started massaging her hands very gently, rhythmically, almost as though it were a dance. We both relaxed more, our conversation becoming more natural, less stilted. I looked around the room with each stroke of her hand, observing two very darling older women in chairs, as we all sat watching an old black and white movie on some ancient TV set. The days were unbearably long, it was so clear.
It was so interesting looking back and forth between my mother and her. She wanted to touch, pure affection something my mother was struggling with. She told me she didn't want to take away all the kisses I had for my mother to her. It was just about the most darling thing.... as I assured her there was plenty in my arsenal of kisses, that I could promise would never run short. (This was one of my moms oldest friends from Temple City and watching them kiss each other was so good for my heart.... just sweetness of children)
She was holding the small bottle of lotion, cupping it, with kleenex I had given her to dry her hands. With almost reverent motions with the bottle as she spoke, telling me she might forget about the lotion, I asked her to smell it, that would help her remember and make her feel good. Life is interesting that way for all of us, when we break it down to just simple. I put my hand on her heart, it didn't matter what her head said at times, her heart always would lead her where she needed to go. In that moment, she began talking about her son, I knew in my heart which one she was talking about. Her heart was talking now.
We spoke for awhile longer, she thanked us both for coming, then my mom had gone outside, at this point. I have had my share of saying - that I would be back. I am not proud of this. I knew without a doubt I would be back this time, and every week thereafter. I thanked her, and finally knew why.
She was the gift, she was grace that I got to experience. Pure divine love.
She held tighter to the lotion, as I kissed her goodbye. She said she knew she wouldn't forget what it was, it was her holy water.
