Emerging Courageous Online Magazine

Emerging Courageous Online Magazine - Stories

"The Ninety-Five Year Old Miracle" by Lissa Lee

Last February 23rd, my grandmother celebrated her 94th birthday. Friends and family surrounded her on that brilliant Sunday afternoon in the community center. Her only remaining sibling joined the merriment along with her newest two week old great-great-grand-daughter and a set of precocious toddling twin boys.

As designated family photographer, I spent the afternoon capturing the faces who dearly love our family's matriarch for posterity. What I could not capture on film was the undaunted spirit residing deep in the heart of my feisty petite ancestor.

She lives alone and unassisted in the house my grandfather built for her in the 1920's. She has outlived her husband, several suitors, two of her five children, their spouses, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and many friends. Despite the obvious loneliness and her occasional bouts of depression, she thrives.

Saturday night, during the gubernatorial election night party, I got the call.

"Hey, this is mom."

"What's up?"

"It's granny, she's in the hospital with peritonitis and not expected to live. You might want to get here as quickly as you can."

My campaign carousing immediately halted. What was I to do? I hadn't driven my car to the party. My primal urge to "fly" had to be squelched. I swallowed my desire to bolt and told my mother I'd be there as soon as possible.

The misery of the call was only heightened with the final election tally, my candidate lost. Constituents slowly leaked from the hall like deflating balloons as our candidate made his concession speech. I told my friends about the call and we joined the exodus.

The drive home was pure torment. The internal conflict as to whether I should drive straight through or sleep and rise early volleyed back and forth? I chose to sleep. Exhausted, I fell into bed, asked God to let her hang on one more day and spent the next hours tossing and turning!

Dawn's light separated my drapes. I bounced out of bed and headed my car to the interstate.

The entire drive was intermitted with prayers and precious memories. Warm recollections of summers spent with her and the antics we cousins performed filled my thoughts.

Regrets seeped in also. When she was anxious to share her life story, I had been too young and impatient to appreciate the wealth. Now that I understood their value, the memories were too heavy and wearisome for her to tell. I was losing more than my grandmother. I was losing my heritage.

Two hours later I arrived at the hospital. Frantic I rushed to the front desk to ask for her room number.

"She's in room 2235."

Relief washed over me. She was still alive! But in what condition would I find her?

I located the room and eased open the door.

There was my granny. Her 85 pound body was buried under a mound of blankets attached to wires, probes and IV's all held in place by protective guard rails.

"Well, look who's here," came her familiar cheery voice. "Come on over here and give your granny a hug, young'un."

I carefully embraced the frail form and absorbed her love.

For the next hour we shared an uninterrupted visit. She told me what had happened and how she was going to be fine. We caught up on all the family gossip. We talked about politics, the war and the results of the election.

Our visit was cut short when her physician and surgeon arrived to discuss options with her. They wanted to operate immediately. She told them no. She was going to be fine. They gave me the, "you need to talk some sense into this woman," speech.

I told them, "No one ever had or probably ever would tell her what to do. She always did exactly what she wanted to! If she was going to have surgery, it would be her decision and no one else's."

The doctors left the room, heads hung and disgust written all over their faces.

"Oh, those doctors don't know as much as they think they know," she told me, "I'm gonna be fine."

What could I say?

Slowly more and more family began to filter into the room. The telephone routinely connected her with well-wishers. By noon, even the twins had arrived. Granny insisted on being placed in a chair.

"I'm not some old sick elderly person," she informed us. "I can't be lying around in bed all day, makes a body stiff. I need to move around. Never could understand these folks that just lay around all day. Can you believe that nurse tried to put one of those diaper things on me last night? What does she think I am, a baby?"

The room erupted into laughter. This was the robust woman we all knew. Every one of her descendants had a story of her defiant attitude charging into life's dilemmas. On more than one occasion she had come charging at us…with a switch in her hand!

I assisted my aunt and we lifted our diminutive granny from the bed to a chair. Soon the twins were climbing onto her lap and feeding her Tic-Tac's. All was right with my world again...my only regret, I failed to bring my camera.

She was released from the hospital Wednesday. Her doctors were amazed at her miraculous recovery. It has them stunned. They kept insisting their tests and films showed a dying woman four days ago. They must have missed something or misread the results they urged.

"No, they didn't miss a thing," I thought, "I've tried to capture that spirit on film hundreds of time! It simply can't be done!"

This February, God willing, she will be 95. I hope her magical spunk, zest and spirit, that defies film, is at least hereditary!

© 11/20/03 Lissa M. Lee
[email protected]

******

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws