2000
Field Stone
Staten Family Reserve
Alexander Valley
California
It is a thoroughly enjoyable, deeply tasty berry port and I love it. It is not as sweet as other ports I’ve had. Uncle Bob brought it for Thanksgiving and it of course tastes best with his leftover pumpkin pie - which, by the way, is the best (Bon Appetite, 1970!!!!!!).
Tonight I reflect on Thanksgiving and Uncle Bob. He loves to sing. We now have a “new” tradition at the end of our Thanksgiving meal where we all go into the living room and my middle child plays Christmas Carols on the piano. Uncle Bob sings to her music (and the rest of us sing along less zealously). This year was no exception. But also this year, Uncle Bob sang our Thanksgiving meal blessing. I can’t fit everyone around the dining room table, so I inevitably have to place six others in the kitchen. But before the meal we all gather in the dining room and say grace or some sort of Thanksgiving blessing. This year, Uncle Bob broke into song – “We Gather Together” was the song he sang. We all did our best with the words of the first verse, but half of us dropped off with the second. And my aunt and cousin tried to tell my uncle one verse was good enough. He kept going. At the end of the second verse they tried to say “Thank You” and “That was good” “OK now”, etc. Bob kept going for verse three. I love to hear him sing and he gets much joy from it and it really warms my soul. Well, I didn’t mind him continuing and was laughing a bit at the others trying to coax him to stop. But then, I looked at my beloved grandmother.
She is 91 and life has been harder for her. Group gatherings tend to confuse her, especially a lot of people. We so want her to be with us, but we hate to have her feel confused. She does all right for the most part. My brother sat by her side and gave her wine and hors d’ouevres and reminded her who was who. She smiles and does her best to recognize and remember and hear and see. But lately, there’s a bit of a loss of recognition in her eyes and a distant look has begun to emerge. I’ve lived long enough now to know that look and start to recognize it as a sign of the years coming to and end. Each time I am with her is a blessing and I am thankful I got one more visit. I always wonder upon leaving her, was this the last one? When I glanced at her during Uncle Bob’s singing, she had a big smile, eyes were intently focused on him and she was leaning forward to hear every word of the song. She was singing too. She knows the song well. It is one of her favorites. My heart leapt as I saw not just recognition in her face, but joy. I thought: please do not let the song end!!!! My grandmother was back for those wonderful minutes.And being together, all of us, singing that awesome song, was all that mattered at that moment. And it created for me a memory to last forever.
Later, my mom and I drove her home (she has lived in a wonderful community for over the last 20 years where she and my grandfather retired to). She has just recently been moved into the Nursing Home part of the community. This was hard for us to do as she is mentally with it and mobile. But she has fallen too many times lately and shouldn’t be left in her own apartment as a result. It is difficult to bring her back to her room where most of the other people are in wheelchairs and appear catatonic. They are withdrawn into their own little worlds and most seem oblivious to visitors.
I have had an emotional time coming to grips with this phase of my grandmother’s journey. This is the woman who taught me water ballet and how to jackknife off the diving board of her swimming pool. She read me Uncle Rhemus stories under crisp, cool, ironed cotton sheets (Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby was my favorite). She confidently sang hymns as I stood by her side in church. She grew glorious flower beds. She bought me things I needed. She told me I was loveable and capable. She told me I was special, and I believed her.
When my mom and I brought her into her room, we sat her on her bed. The nurse’s aide had laid out her pretty floral PJ’s and my mom and I kissed her and started to say goodbye. With a sleepy look on her face, she raised her arms over her head for us to take her shirt off. In that moment, I saw my littlest child at the end of a long day, just wanting me to help her get ready for bed. So my mom and I undressed her and put her PJ’s on. Then she hugged us both and brought our heads down to her shoulders. As I wrapped my arms around her, she began to cry. And I cried too. We held each other, silently shaking with our sobs. It was all unspoken, but I knew what she was feeling. Life has changed again. A new phase has begun, come what may.
I can’t confide in her anymore. I can’t tell her what worries me or hurts me because it causes her too much pain to not be able to be make things better for me. She loves me so much that divulging my secret troubles to her would cause her strife. And I love her too much to attempt it. So I suppose I am beginning to realize that my days with my eldest unconditional mentor are running out. And I am frightened. And I am looking to friends that I’ve somehow lost. I am wondering who can fill that void for me. I suppose I am being selfish, trying to protect a very fragile psyche that she has always been there to nurture. I am embarking soon on unchartered territory.
On my way home from work last night I felt as if I were driving in a trance. I usually listen intently to NPR. I found myself hearing the words but none of the meaning. I hit traffic on the highway and pulled off to take the back roads - only to get stuck behind a policeman who had stopped his car in the middle of the road. I was vaguely aware of a mess of sorts on the road but hadn’t paid real close attention. Waiting for him to do whatever it was he was doing, I glanced out my window to the road beneath my car. There, to my left, right by my door, was a big, exposed bloody heart. All by itself. It had belonged to a deer. It had been hit hard and fast and was in pieces everywhere. The cop dragged what was left of its head and front legs across the road in front of me to the grass. He then got in his car and drove off. I felt like I stared at that heart forever. I remember thinking: that’s my heart, naked and exposed, out in the cold, separate from my body. I need to get back in touch with it. I need to move on. I need to do the best I can to pick myself up and dust myself off and forge onward. That’s what my grandmother would say to me if she knew how I felt. She’d encourage me not to wallow. She’d encourage me to shine, even if my shine isn’t that new anymore. She’d encourage me to do the best I can with what I’ve got to work with.
As my mom and I left my grandmother's room Thanksgiving night, I noticed just outside her room, hanging on the wall, the song we had sung before dinner. There it was – all that’s important in life: We Gather Together. An affirmation just for me. Awesome.
$40 / 750 ml.
8.25 out of 10
19% alc. by vol.
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