A Lesson in Living from the Brave

My best friend, Andrea and I make a trip to the library in our town twice a month to exchange books for the residents in a local retirement home. We both enjoy doing this. We get to spend time with the residents, with each other, and since we both love books, going to the library is always a treat. There is one problem, it can take four hours a day or more.  I have to admit, there have been times we were thankful to find out the ladies were at lunch so we could just deposit the books in their rooms without a long visit. Usually, we would stop at the dining room and chat for a few minutes. But, like so many of us, we have busy lives so we always seem to be in a hurry.

We were told about a new resident that was blind and needed some audio books.  I tried to select some of the more recent titles and hoped that she would enjoy them.  Since she had recently lost her sight, I thought about how difficult it must be for her to cope with the changes in her life. There would have to be a feeling of resentment.  I have always thought of old age as a time of loss, with growing dependence on your family, the loss of  friends by death, and your own failing health.  I found a much different person that changed my perceptions of having a handicap and growing older in one short visit.

Her name is Eve. It seems like such a plain name for such an extraordinary person. She is beautiful, there is a calm and reassuring aura that seems to radiate from her.  I think that she might prefer my calling it her love for God and people.  She is in her seventies, I believe.  Her face is remarkably unlined for her age, her clothing beautifully put together with blouse and tailored pants to match, her shoes polished and the correct color.  Her hair is  white with silver streaks, thick, and in a upsweep, not a hair out of place, even her makeup is perfect. After introductions and some small talk, we spoke of her loss of sight. I had to ask, �You look so beautiful. How do you manage to look so altogether?�  She laughed and replied, �My friend across the hall checks my makeup, and I pat her hair to make sure her hair extensions are even.�  She went on to talk about her belief that God puts people together for a reason and for everything that you lose in life, you gain something richer.

I glanced around  her apartment.  It was wonderfully furnished with Queen Ann furniture in a canary yellow fabric.  Her side tables were filled with pictures in brass frames with an occasional vase of vibrant flowers. You would never know that you were in a blind persons home  It was tastefully done.  Her china cabinet had interior lightening and the pieces inside were beautiful and I ached to know more about them and her. I knew there wasn�t time.  I did have to ask about the paintings though.  There were some prints from the well known artists like Monet.  Other paintings that I didn�t recognize fit in well.  She shyly admitted that those were hers.  I walked over to one that showed a fragile, opaque vase holding four of the loveliest dark red roses I had ever seen.  Each rose had a black velvet interior.  You could almost smell their rich fragrance and touch their soft petals, they seemed so real.  Another painting was of three horses with brown soulful eyes that seemed to look straight at you and a mane that ached to be stroked.  I know that Eve must hold those paintings in her memories, but it upset me that she could no longer �see� them.  As she answered my questions, I  realized that she can �see� them much more vividly than we could. She remembers the texture and the colors and the actual work done.  She confessed that since these were oils, she had touched them up many times before she had captured the image that she was satisfied with.  She shyly admitted that she also writes poetry.  Ah, we shared something and I wanted to hear her emotions on paper.  What a story that must be!  She said that she was sixty when she started to paint and write.  She shared that at each period of loss in her life, God had blessed her with a new pursuit to pour her heart into.  She writes from pain, I thought, so do I.  But as she continued to speak,  I could hear the difference between us. I tend to think of life as a cup that is half empty.  This lovely lady knows the glass is only half full and then precedes to fill it up. I wanted to know much more about her so I could �draw from the well�.  I made a vow to return. 

As we left the building, I realized that each of those elderly people is a library and as they die without telling their stories we all lose. We need to sit in their presence, learn from their wisdom, and gain knowledge about how to live our own lives.

By: Kathie Stehr
March 5,1999