The Place Where Cora Lives
When my husband came in and told me that the family wanted
someone to spend a month with his grandma in Florida, I knew I was the one for
the job, not just because my work is portable, but also because I needed the
change. I needed the sun. I needed easy afternoons on the front porch. I needed
three meals a day—all light—at routine times. I needed a world where babies
didn’t die and people lived to be 100—like Ben’s Grandma, Cora’s namesake.
Even a year ago, I couldn’t have done it. A month in a place
where my Cora’s name is seldom brought up, and my work for her is a mystery.
“Work on the computer,” is the phrase used to describe what I do from the
people here, and right now that’s just fine.
I’ve been here a week. The entire plan came together
quickly. Just a few days after the idea was first mentioned I was on a direct
flight from Indianapolis to Tampa.
Grandma Cora, the original Cora Mae as I sometimes refer to
her, lives on her own when in Florida and gets along great, but no one wants to
leave their 100-year-old grandma by herself, so my main job is to keep her
company. I also escort her on her daily walk to the end of the block. I walk
back with her, make sure she gets inside and then often I continue the walk,
visiting a park just a block from her house with nice walking trails. Sometimes
I stop to watch the birds and other animals. I try to clear my head of all
thoughts and focus on each step hitting the ground. It’s wonderful medicine.
On Sunday I escorted grandma to church. She’s a really
religious person. I don’t tell her that I have different religious beliefs,
instead I go and soak up hers—enjoying them because they comfort her. She is
100 years old after all. I think about how she’s made it all these years and am
in constant awe. I’ve never seen a 100 year old person in such good health.
She’s got her mental facilities. She’s still sharp. She’s a bit hard of hearing
and moves slowly. She clutches my arm when we walk somewhere not around home
like into church or around the supermarket. Yes, she does her own grocery
shopping and walks all around the grocery store. It donned on me that perhaps
that’s why she’s made it this far, she knows holding out her hand for support
isn’t a sign of her weakness. She’s frail and tiny, but oh so strong. She’s buried
three boys in the past few years. Even more impressive—she raised six boys all
on her own.
I go to bed within hours of the sunset and rise before it
comes back in the sky most mornings because that’s grandma’s schedule. It’s
extremely different than my normal schedule, but it feels great.
December is over. The hard month is finally passed. Living
resumes.
I won’t stay forever in my warm little bubble where babies
named Cora live to be 100, but I’ll be better and stronger for my time here.
