Adara

In 17 days my Grandmother will be 97.

I chose my daughter’s Hebrew name in honor of my grandmother.

Zoe is Miriam Adara.

Miriam, the sister of Moses and a poet, is my Grandmother’s Hebrew name. Zoe’s second Hebrew name, Adara, means fire. I chose this intentionally. My daughter is fire; she personifies this image. I love her for it. Adore her for her hypnotizing personality. Her soft sharpness.

I adore even more the fact that she is blessed with my Grandmother’s name.

Because my grandmother is strong.

She is full of life.

Grandma came over and spent some time on the porch with me today. She sat in my white rocking chair looking at the front yard. Her cane was at her side; her wheelchair tucked unassumingly into a corner. She can still walk, but slowly, so the wheelchair helps when we need to give her a little speed. She wore a red sweater and blue boot cut jeans. Soft black slip on shoes. Her hair is white white white and short. She has carefully applied her makeup. Her huge blue eyes gaze into mine.

Sometimes I think I feel your grandfather with me, she says.

She tells me that she likes to think that his spirit is watching over her. She swears that she feels him with her. I ask her if she believes in the afterlife. She tells me that she isn’t sure. She can’t prove anything and is skeptical and, yet, she feels him.

She tells me that their hearts are connected.

She begins recounting memories of their life together: In your grandfather’s eyes, she says, I could do no wrong.

I laugh and ask her what she thinks about that sentiment.

She pauses and says to me: Doing no wrong is impossible. But for him, in me, it was possible.

She pauses for a while and enjoys the warm wind and talks to me about my wind chime. She is frustrated that it doesn’t make noise. I explain to her that I bought it while on vacation because Zachary liked it. I agree with her, it doesn’t do very well at its job; it rarely makes noise. It was relatively inexpensive though, and Zach liked the color and the way it felt in his hands. I ring it sometimes just to hear its sound. But, other than that, it serves as a memory of time spent.

We sit in the quiet. I step inside to grab an apple and a notebook to record her thoughts.

I tell her a story about Zoe’s tenacity around the topic of bath time. She grins and assures me I am in for it when Zoe is a teenager. I tell her that I know. Zoe is going to be a challenge of challenges.

Grandma wishes out loud that she could be there to see it.

I propose a promise. I request that if, after she’s gone, she finds there is a way to send me a message or a feeling, to please do so. That I would like to feel her with me. She agrees.

Again, for minutes, we sit together in the warm air. We look at the changing leaves. She asks about my lawn.

She says she’d like me to send my grandfather an email. I agree that I will, in the form of this blog, and ask what she would like me to say.

She dictates:

Dear Joe,

We are waiting for you. We want you to see our little girl.

Our Zachy. He’s so big now, Joe.

I think you would enjoy Zoe. She’s spicy like her mommy…

Grandma trails off and looks at me. She tells me that she reads my blog every day. I am surprised. I had not known this. She explains that when there is not a new one, she feels disappointed. I promise her I will write. I explain that I had been writing in other ways over the past few weeks.

She touches her green emerald ring.

Her hands are knotty and smooth.

Her nails are clean.

She complains of the failing batteries in her hearing aids.

She tells me that she needs a new bra because her breasts have fallen down.

She tells me I am beautiful.

I ask if she has eaten.

If she’d like a glass of water or some cheese.

She is not hungry and happy just to pass the time with me.

I’m happy to pass the time with her because I don’t know how much time there is left to pass.

In a week, in my front yard, I will host a wedding. Grandma will be there. She will watch my children dance.

I will watch her watch them and take note of the strength of her spirit. I will memorize the feeling so that I can look for it again in the future when Zoe stamps her foot and disregards some trivial request I make.

I will memorize Grandma’s love for me and hold carefully its weight.

I will listen for the silences.

In them, are the answers.