An open Letter about Growing old

[Wren Sison]

Dear Grandmother,

On this hazy summer afternoon, as you stirred the pot and as I leaned on the countertop and as we chatted, you looked past me.

You told me of your mother's homecooking, how, when she was sick, she wouldn't eat anything except the food you prepared. Recalling proudly how you sent all your children to the best schools in the province, you smiled and turned your murky gray eyes toward the nostalgia in your mind's eye.

"Now that I'm...well, like this now," you say with a creaky smile. "I ask myself, 'How did I do it?' " You then turned back to the pot and mumbled something about if-I-wanted-to-eat-something-or-the-other.

In the span of that moment, I realized I wanted to ask you something.

When did time pass you by?

I glance at this 81-year-old Filipina woman; a mother of 13 children, grandmother of over 20, great-grandmother of 6. As you settle your small, stout frame over a copy of Reader's Digest, your gray hair hanging over your wrinkled face, I try to imagine YOUR TIME, at the prime of your youth, laughing with careless abandon.

A time long ago, stuck in the lapse of your memories.

And I wonder once again...

When did time pass you by?

When did the world start to move fast, too fast for you to keep up?

You are stuck, caught in a series of yester-years, as everyone you know & love has either passed away or moved forward. The stories you tell are just that--no more than stories of your recollection, of a time that no longer exists.

When did it happen, grandmother?

As you silently shuffle your steps and read your books and say your prayers, I realize something.

You have accepted it.

You have realized that time is flying, soaring, and you cannot keep up. And as I write this, I cannot help but feel a sort of pity--you live life with ease, but without and purpose. You do not fulfill, strive, run--you simply...exist. And as I write this, I cannot help but feel a sort of fear--because I know that someday, life will move too fast for me to keep up with as well. One day, I will wake up to a day and age and ask myself, "What happened to the world I lived in?"

Do you ever look back at the busiest points in your past, and think, "I really made a difference"? Because when I'm old and gray and my body starts to go defunct, I want to remember my time like that.

I want to LIVE.

Dear grandmother of over 20 children, 81-year-old mother of 13 kids, great-grandmother of 6...

I think I have a new respect for you. I love you very much.

And yet...

I understand why people want to die young.

Sincerely,

Wren