Love

Today my visit to the old folk's home was especially touching. Grandpa has been in a different home since he had a stroke three weeks ago. The new home is associated with the hospital and has intensive therapy that's helping him to recover his balance and ability to swallow solids.

This afternoon when I went in to visit, the nurse was helping Grandpa, so I sat in the hall until he was finished. An old married couple walked/wheeled to the seat next to me to sit and chat. The wife pushed her husband in his wheelchair. They sat and she asked (loudly) "Do you know who I am today?" His response was a mumble accentuated with consonants, almost discernible, but not quite. Then she asked "Can you speak today?" Another garbled reply. I was near tears listening to them. This is love, I thought. Real love.

The nurse emerged from Grandpa's room to tell me he was ready to visit. Grandpa's roommate, a German fellow, sat outside the door in his wheelchair waiting to get to his bed. I wheeled him over to his side of the room and helped him onto the bed. He sat upright and asked for his accordion. The accordion is the next instrument that I'd like to learn how to play. He slowly put his arms through the straps and began to play beautiful notes that melded into one another gracefully. I was mesmerized. It was so loud that Grandpa and I couldn't talk over the music, but I was quite happy to sit and listen. His notes were soulful. He stared nostalgically out the window as he played, a glimpse of youth in his pale blue eyes.

When he was done, he set the instrument down next to him on his bed. I went to place it back on the table so that he could lie down. He told me the story of it. How he bought it in Germany and brought it over with him. He showed me his hands, his joints knobby with arthritis. He said it was hard to play now because his fingers were stiff. I said you'd never know to hear him. Again, I almost cried to think of playing music being painful.

I told him that I love the accordion and would like to learn how to play. That was when I received my first lesson. He told me how to wear the straps. Then he showed me the motion with his arms and pointed out the bass side, explaining how this was the background sound. Then he explained that he presses two buttons on the other side at the same time to "make a nice sound." My noises didn't sound nearly as soothing as his, more like tripping than waltzing, but the notes that swelled from the bellows struck me even more to hear them escaping from my own hands.

I returned to Grandpa's side of the room to visit for a while after the music lesson. I touched his arm and looked into his eyes without speaking and he returned my gaze accompanied by a cute little sideways smile. Again I felt full of love. Grandpa reminded me that his 92nd birthday is coming up in two weeks. I was sad to think of him not being able to eat his traditional birthday lobster. We always have a big lobster dinner for his birthday. I thought to myself that maybe I could puree some lobster for him this year. Better yet, maybe I could catch it too!

My visit to the old folk's home today was yet another reminder that it's the little things in life that count. Money can't buy you love.