The Grandma on the Couch, the strength of a weakness!

 Published first 2009, Hopekeepers Magazine

A left turn off the highway, then one mile to the red barn!  Just as the barn came into view, my stomach cart-wheeled as Dad launched our car off the top of hill.  That last roller coaster ride meant we were within a few feet of the tree-lined drive that lead us to the best place on earth.  A visit to Uncle Putt and Aunt Lois’s place always meant fun.  I spent hours playing in the creek, fishing for crawdads, catching frogs, and hiking to the meadow at the top of the forty acres.  It was a glorious place where getting dirty was a God-given right, and chocolate was a major food group.  Sadly, I grew up. Catching frogs gave way to teenage self-absorption and I would be married with my own family before I could see what lessons the farm had really held.  By then Uncle Putt had gone ahead to play pinochle with Uncle Wendell in heaven, and Aunt Lois was much shorter and grayer than I remembered.  I realized that the farm I had grown to love, was really no bigger than a person.

The forty acres were still beautiful and peaceful, but what set it apart from other places was the person who waited to greet me.  Now the tree-lined drive wasn’t the end of the journey, it was the beginning of special times with the only person I’ve ever known that I could call a soul mate.  Aunt Lois taught me that everyone is family once inside the door…and the door is always open.  A cup of tea is the beginning of great conversation and a shared walk after a big meal is for more than just digestion.  Now instead of playing in the creek, I sipped tea and watched a Portland Trailblazer game with Lois while she lay on a little sofa in the corner of her kitchen.

Once a back porch, later converted to extend the kitchen, Lois’s nook became the reception center of the forty acres it sat in.  The little sofa became the receptionist’s desk. Parkinson’s Disease eventually made time measured not in hours, but in how long Lois could be away from her “desk.“ The little sofa had been made in the 60’s and was no bigger than a loveseat.   Time and abuse had made it a bit threadbare and blankets softened the rough upholstery.  It folded down on both ends, clicking into whatever position you chose.  Most of the time one end was up, to be leaned upon, and the other end down to rest the legs on, and despite it’s very lived in look, it was inviting.  Beside it sat a small table with all the essentials - phone, phone book, pen, paper, magazines, TV remote, and most important - electronic poker and Wheel of Fortune games.

When Lois left us, she was remembered as “the grandma on the couch” by one of her great-grandsons, and I thought it was so fitting.  To some, that may have seemed a depressing way to be remembered, but to me it meant stability.  I always knew when I came through the door that Aunt Lois would be waiting for me.  That corner of the kitchen was never a place of sorrow, but of warmth and love.  Lois was always glad to see my face - even when it came in tear-stained.  There were many times I showed up tired or broken-hearted, and without notice.  A smile greeted me, followed by “sit down girl.“  She was a soul mate, a friend, a confident…and a great yard sale companion in her more mobile years.

Several years before Lois left us, I began struggling with my own physical difficulties.  Many times while visiting the farm, Lois and I would meet in the kitchen in the middle of the night.  My chronic pain and sleeplessness didn’t seem so isolating when I saw a light on under the door at 2 AM.  Those late night moments with her at her “desk” are the most precious memories I have.  While our ailments were not the same, they were still unifying.  The relationship that our physical struggles brought us, is something that I will never know again here on earth.  My heart aches for those who may never experience the comfort brought by the “light under the door.  However, while not everyone has a “Grandma on the couch,” we all have a Father up in heaven!  

I am so grateful for a God who cherishes me every moment of every day, knows every hair on my head, and every new wrinkle on my face.  I am even more thankful for my Comforter who knows every pain and weakness I experience. The special people in our lives can leave or disappoint us, but God is our constant.  He is the smile at the end of the journey, no matter how weary or brokenhearted we may be.  It is so comforting to know that we are all special and loved unconditionally simply because of “whose” we are!

There is something I don’t have to miss about Aunt Lois…her little sofa.  The symbol of comfort and security that cradled the one that went before me, is sitting upstairs in my family room.   A few years ago I was allowed to give the “desk” a new home, and now warm, red fabric disguises it‘s true age and identity.  Someday I plan to be the “grandma on the couch” and no matter what frailties may cause me to spend time there, I pray that Aunt Lois’s qualities rub off on me.  I’m going to do my best to face that stage of life with a smile, show unconditional love to anyone that takes the time to visit me, and be an example of grace and hope.  At the end of my life, when I turn onto God’s tree-lined drive, I imagine Lois waving from a special nook in His Kingdom.  I can already hear her say, “Sit down girl, I’ve been waiting for you.”

From left to right: Aunt Doris, my Mom, and Aunt Lois - at her desk

• Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” Ephesians 3:20  NLT