The Sisters

The cast. Grandma Esther (86), Great Aunt Ruby (85), Great Aunt Magie (pronounced MAY-gee) (76), and me (Lori, 34).

Grandma has been living in an assisted living facility for a year and a half now. It’s a beautiful facility (nicer than any of the places I’ve lived in over the past 4 years….). The staff is loving, the residents are friendly, activities and outings are always available, but, it’s not home. My grandmother pitched a holy fit when my father admitted her, because of medical necessity. She complains constantly, but every so often she lets it slip how much she likes living there. As soon as she realizes she’s said something positive about Summit Place, she begins complaining again.

Every Saturday morning, her sisters drive out to Summit Place, pick her up, and drive her to her house (2 miles away). If it’s a sunny day, they sit on the front porch and watch traffic. As Grandma says, it’s “much better watchin’ here at the house, at that there place (the assisted living facility) the cars just come in and park. Ain’t no fun in that.” If it’s a rainy day, they sit inside and stare out the window, talking the whole time, about nothing in particular. Around 11:30 they fix tomato and Wonderbread sandwiches, have a cup of coffee, then at 2:30 they load back into the car and all go to their respective homes.

Saturday, however, was a special event. I was coming to visit. I don’t think they’ve ever forgiven my father for moving “north” (to North Carolina, mind you) and taking the grandchildren away. I remember that point always coming up at one point or another on every one of our visits.

I hadn’t even turned off the keys to the car when Magie came slowly scuffling down the wheelchair ramp attached to the back porch. I waved, locked the car and started towards her.

“LAW! Chile! You ain’t change a bit!” and with that she gave me a hug that knocked the breath out of me. I looked down at the youngest of the sisters, this woman who stood almost a foot shorter than me, and wondered where she got such strength. Laughing, I followed her inside. Hey, Aunt Magie, how are you? It’s good to see you. “We bin starin out the window all mornin’.” (It was only 10 am). “Law! Look at ‘chu! Mmmm!”

This scene was repeated twice more. Once with Grandma, once with Aunt Ruby. It was raining on Saturday, so we sat at the formicaed kitchen table, tablecloth turned back so we wouldn’t mess it. That’s the way Grandma’s entire house is, protected from the signs of everyday living. The slipcovers on chairs and sofas. The doilies, everywhere. The thick, clear, plastic runners, protecting the ancient wall to wall carpet.

They wanted to know all about my travels. How my mom and dad were. Grandmother pulled out the mini-book that is my parents’ itinerary. “Ev’ry Sat’day we try an figure out where they is. Can’t e’en say haf these names. Where they at now?” I smiled, took the itinerary and started scanning down the dates. France. They’re in France now. They’ll spend the day in Paris, then travel to the countryside tonight. Heads shaking and “Mm, mm, mms” heard in stereo sound around me. “Ain’t that sumpon. They trav’lin’ all round the world like that. Ain’t e’en any di’sasters. You know, they always doin’ that mish-nay work when folks in trouble. But not this time. Just seein’. Just seein’ what’s in the world. They sure is blessed to be able to do that. Mm, hmmm. God shore looked down on them mighty pretty.” I laughed.

Hey! I think I have some pictures of us, hold on a minute and I’ll go get them. Before they could say anything, I ran back out to the car and grabbed my laptop. I thought I had downloaded pictures of my parents and me together in Korea, as well as some in China. I took the laptop out of its case and placed it gently on the formica. “What chu got there, chile?” This? It’s my computer. I have some pictures on here. “You got pictures in there?” I then realized that they probably had never seen digital pictures before. I prayed silently they wouldn’t think it was the work of the devil and try to dismantle my computer.

I booted up. Opened the “My Pictures” folder and scanned quickly. Yep. Sure enough, there were pictures of mom and dad, in front of the various sites in Korea and China. I enlarged one. The sisters squealed in delight. Aunt Ruby jumped up and turned off the lights. “This just like a picture show!” “Look at that!” I scrolled through just a few of the pictures, telling a little history about South Korea and the places we visited. They were delighted.

I shut down the computer and we continued to talk. Aunt Magie complained about how Grandma couldn’t go to her normal church every Sunday, “Ain’t that a shame.” Grandma commented about her daily devotion book. Wednesday’s devotion was about forgiveness. “It talked ’bout forgivin’ yo family when you get into an argument. And I thought to myself, I ain’t never got into no argument with my family. Ain’t that right.” Aunt Magie contemplated this first. She sat with a pensive look. “No, can’t ever remember us fightin’.” Aunt Ruby was next. “Not ever. E’en when we was under momma and daddy’s roof. Mm. They had good control o’er us. Nope. Never any disagreein’.” For the next 20 minutes they exchanged declaratives back and forth, confirming they had never argued.

They sat together on the couch, my grandmother in between her two sisters, them all looking back and forth at each other, shaking their heads, trying to remember any argument they had ever had. When they were satisfied they couldn’t remember any, they moved on, talking about their other brothers and sisters. Their mother had bore 11 children, but only 5 survived past infancy. I listened as they recounted how each had died. Whooping cough. Stillborn. One fell into the fire. They talked about Grandmother dropping out of school in 5th grade, because her Daddy couldn’t afford the hospital bills and was too proud to ask the County for assistance. Grandmother kept the younger children, allowing her mother to go to work in the mill. They talked about their marriages, and the deaths of each of their husbands, “God rest his soul.” I have heard the same stories for 34 years. The details never change, yet I never tire of listening. I probably could quote, verbatim, each of the stories. Each inflection, each exclamation, each interaction. But listening is magical. I sat, riveted, watching, listening, feeling the love.