Lady Graham and Celery Sticks

My wife, Esther and I, received a phone call about Mrs. Graham one sunny day in Truro, Nova Scotia. “Hello,” our church secretary said. “A request came in from an older lady, for someone to take her shopping tomorrow. Her daughter usually takes her, but she’s ill.”

 

Aha, we thought, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for help.

 

No elevator. We had to climb three flights of stairs before arriving at her apartment. It seemed like a challenge in slow motion as I pulled hard on the railing to overcome the steep incline. Then my knuckles bruised themselves knocking against her hardwood door.

 

Mrs. Graham invited us in, showed us around her one bedroom castle, grabbed her coat and we headed out. She’s 82, with a bent back and her eyes swallow everything in sight. A glowing smile turned out to be an echo of her personality. Conversation was mostly a monologue. A river of words thanking us for our kindness, charged from her pursed lips.    

 

She determinedly found her way down the stairs, one careful step at a time. I followed slowly. Her lonely comments engaged us all the way to the bottom step. 

 

She told us her daughter was often sick and could we take her when she could not? We did not mind.  During further visits we heard about her daughter’s continuing sore leg, unreliable car, no money for gas and being snowed in. Especially on days when even a flake of snow remained hidden from view.

 

At first we did feel sorry for this older lady as weeks passed into months in our various trips to shop and visit doctors.

 

My wife and I also learned, being with Mrs. Graham took much patience. She was ecstatic to be released from the prison of her apartment. And to know she had a reliable backup driving service, which we did, cheerfully. We also did not focus on her daughter withdrawing from helping with the driving at least twice a week, knowing her mother was in good hands.

 

Mrs. Graham never had a need to hurry, whether waiting for an eye examination, doing some banking, or shopping for essentials. At the bank, she was notorious for pulling out a small bag full of saved pennies and counting them out one enunciation at a time.

 

For our transportation efforts she often gave us substitutes for gas money; a bartering reward. “For your kindness,” she said.

 

Although she looked frail, wrinkled beyond her age, regular responses to our questions were often, “Eh?” She did not take kindly to questions about her daughter. “Where does she live?” we’d ask.

 

“Eh?”

 

“How come she picked out this apartment for you? We often asked.

 

“Eh?”

 

“It’s so far from downtown. There’s no shopping nearby.”

 

“Rent’s a lot cheaper here,” she’d answer, continuing to defend her daughter who selected the apartment for her mother. With only Old Age Security for income, her rent was less compared to apartments in the downtown area.

 

We had many adventures with Mrs. G such who insisted as she often did for other things, to return four bottles of pop due to a sale at another store. That side trip was to save ten cents a bottle.

 

At the bank she insisted we not linger near the teller in case we heard about the finances in her account. We knew she had much less than what she dreamed about.

 

Tales of independence lost caused her to sign herself out of a Nursing Home in a town about thirty miles away. “Besides, too expensive there,” She often said.

 

On several occasions we lost our patience when she wandered onto the street during banking visits. “We said we’d meet you at the front door after finishing your financial business. Remember? You told us you don’t like anyone hovering over you, at the bank.”

 

“Eh?” she’d answered, with the addition of a mischievous smile.  

 

Yet, we marveled at how this frail, gray haired 82 year-young lady had the moxie to call taxis when needed. Or get to the bus station, and arrive 35 miles away for her doctor-specialist appointment, followed by a visit with old friends. “I had him for years,” she said, “too late to change now.”

 

On occasion we drove Mrs. Graham to the local hospital for Blood Pressure tests.

 

For our efforts driving her around, she always offered cookies, or a piece of cake. Today we accepted two celery sticks.