Time Well Spent

I slowly approach the bed in the middle of my grandparent’s room. My heart aches. I gently touch the familiar wood of the bed frame, and the worn quilt that rests across the bed. The neighbors were so nice to come over and clean things up. I can’t help it as the first tears fall down my face. I miss my grandparents so much. My body shakes as more tears cascade down my face. The situation becomes real as I walk through their house. They weren’t here to greet me. Nana didn’t have dinner ready when I got here. The porch lights weren’t on. They were gone. Permanently. I lay back on the bed, tears still flowing, and my mind takes me to the days I spent with them.

I watch, mesmerized as Nana goes about her daily routine. My eyes are glued to the gigantic curling iron that frightens me a little bit. As a young girl of only 7 years old, I sit, very amazed at how confidently she waves the scorching hot wand around as she uses broad gestures to get her points across. She deliberately curls each piece of hair until she is satisfied. Then, she picks up the brush and smooths the defined curls, making them appear natural. I bounce in anticipation of what comes next. I love watching Nana put on her astonishingly bright pink lipstick. It fits her personality perfectly. She’s so vibrant and unique, bold and unafraid. I take in how she slowly and carefully traces the natural outline of her lips. When finished, she places her lipstick back in her ancient makeup basket. She looks right at me. She looks right into my eyes and says, “Now the difficulty in wearing such bold lipstick is making sure it never gets on your teeth.” We both throw our heads back and laugh because we both know that before this day is over, Nana will have gotten some lipstick on her teeth. I notice how the skin around Nana’s eyes crinkles. I love her smiling eyes. She laughs at herself, and I take a moment to appreciate her ability to do so.

My heart races and my hands shake. I knew I shouldn’t have come in here, but I had always wanted to know what was in these drawers. I slowly reached toward the second drawer; I already knew that the top drawer contained a copious amount of hair bows that Nana had purchased for all of her granddaughters.

Nana’s voice startled me out of my thoughts, “Joanna, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice carrying no trace of accusation.

“I,” my voice wavered as guilt began to overwhelm me, “I was wondering what was in these drawers.” I gestured to the drawer I had come so close to opening.

“Oh, Jojo. You know you can always ask me anything. Right?”

I nod my head. I had experienced Nana’s grace and mercy many times before. I absolutely know that I could ask Nana anything. Shame floods into my heart. I couldn’t help but ask myself what had driven me to go behind Nana’s back.

“Well, I came up here to tell you that everyone else has gone to finish some chores in the barn, and some people went with your mom and Aunt Rhoda to the Walmart in Linton. Would you like to go help with the chores, or would you like to do some exploring with me?”

Her eyes gleam when she finishes. I know exactly what I want to do. She knows exactly what I want to do. She pulls over a chair, as she has some trouble with her knees, and doesn’t want to sit on the floor. She grabs the handle of the second drawer.

She showed me all the pictures in those drawers; she showed me her life. She told me the stories behind every picture; she told me all about her life. That afternoon was so special, and certainly well spent.

I stare at the Bible that lays across Nana’s lap. The pages are worn and some are even torn. I know the tears are not from abuse, the situation is quite the opposite actually. They are from years and years of dedicated use. Nana reads from this Bible every day. Her hand glides across it as she reads it. Her hands are wrinkled from years of being a teacher, a loving mother, and an inspiring grandmother. Her hands are soft and gentle. Her wedding ring glistens even in the dim light, a token of almost 50 years of marriage, and a symbol of a promise that has been well kept. I am nestled in the gigantic bed between Nana and Grandpa John. Grandpa John has glasses on, and is reading from Luke. I have my glasses and am reading from Matthew. Nana has her glasses on and is reading from John. I smile contentedly. Grandpa John smiles and closes his Bible. I take this as my cue to close mine. He gives me a quick hug after I climb out of the bed. He says, “Goodnight Joanna Banana.” I laugh at the nickname he gave me years ago. I scurry around to Nana’s side of the bed. She pulls me into a tight hug. When she releases me, she tells me sincerely how much she loves me.

I walk to the end of the bed and slide into my sleeping bag. As Nana turns out her light she bids Grandpa John and me goodnight. The room is filled with darkness. I lay staring into the darkness. Soon, the room is filled with snores, and I smile to myself. The constant noise is a comfort as I am lulled to sleep.

The shrill echo of the phone ringing interrupts my conversation with Jessica. My mom smiles at me and says, “Hey Birthday Girl. I bet it’s for you, you better go answer it.” I return her smile before I run into the kitchen to grab the phone.  I press the button and immediately the shrill ringing stops. I hold the phone up to my ear and brightly greet the person who has yet to be identified. I only have the chance to get out a hello before Nana and Grandpa John begin to sing Happy Birthday to me. They are both strong singers, and I am amazed at how good they sound together. I walk to my parents’ room while I listen. They sound wonderful. I can imagine them sitting up in their bed, each singing into their own phones that are placed on either side of their bed.  When they finish off the 4th verse, I laugh out of pure joy. “Happy Birthday Joanna! We love you!” they chorus.

“Thank you for calling!”

“So, how was your day?” Grandpa John asks.

“Well I just opened the present you sent me! The jacket fits perfectly, and I am actually wearing it right now!” I say a little louder than usual, in an attempt to make it easier for Grandpa John to hear me. I look down at the soft, turquoise jacket that had just arrived in the mail.

“I’m so glad!” Nana exclaims. I know she was the one that found me this jacket. She has a real talent for finding practical and meaningful gifts.

We had been able to talk for almost half an hour more. They always wanted an update on my grades, and my activities. Nana was always especially interested in my swimming. They gave me detailed updates of how their life on the farm was going. I cherished those Happy Birthday phone calls.

My eyes are red from tears at this point, and I curl into a protective ball. I want protection from the circumstances. I want Nana to comfort me. Instead, I pull myself up from their bed, walk in a determined fashion down the stairs, pull the cover off the piano, and sit down. My fingers hover above the keys. I debate internally over what to play. What would Nana want to hear? I start one of her favorite songs, Ripples. It was one of the songs that I played for her the most. She loved how happy it sounded. The cheerful refrains were a harsh contrast to my mood, and the atmosphere of the dimly lit house. I hadn’t even finished the song, when I realized that I had begun to play the familiar cadences of Amazing Grace.

I bounce in my seat between Buddy and Nana, and I look around the circle of chairs. I make eye contact with my mom and I give her a smile, she returns it before my eyes wander down to the song book in my lap. Every time my family gets together we have to sing. It’s tradition. Uncle Matt has taken control of this session. He’s very particular with the timing and rhythm of each song, and sometimes I find it hard to follow him, but he’s good at leading. He asks me to call out a song number. We each get to choose one song, we go around the circle, and it’s finally my turn. “129,” I call out, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“Nice choice, Joanna,” Nana whispers to me with a bright and genuine smile. I can’t help the proud smile that crosses my face. This song is my favorite. My smile grows when I realize that Nana doesn’t open her book to see what song is it, nor does she open it to look at the words. She knows her song books well, and she knows each word by heart. I look up at her with admiration; my Nana is awesome. I close my song book. I want to see if I know every word.

Uncle Matt gives people time to find the page before he starts off the first verse of Amazing Grace. Nana is such a strong singer. I feel her voice empowering me as I make the decision to sing the soprano part with her. I’m obviously still learning to sing this high, and my voice cracks a couple times before I start getting the hang of it.

I play the final chord of the song. Dad comes downstairs with Uncle Andy and Aunt Rhoda. We had made a special trip down from Indianapolis to check on the farm. All was well and the carbon monoxide detector now read zero. My dad looks tired as I walk towards him to give him a hug. I don’t know if I am giving him a hug to comfort him, or if I was seeking his comfort, but I begin to feel much better when he rubs my back. Eventually, I pull away and we all  walk towards the front door. My dad makes sure all the lights are off before we get in the car to make the two hour drive back to Indy.