Today we picked up my grandmother from the assisted living home in which she now resides along with three other elderly, almost-crazy women. They are sweet, but it is quite the wild ride going over there to visit. I have endured ten-second-long kisses on the back of the hand, a false-alarm death, and painfully penetrating stares. My grandmother is certainly the most coherent among them, but she is still getting older every time I see her.
I think about death a lot. Every day, actually. I assume most people my age don’t dwell on that mystery as much, but we would expect it from the elderly. I find it very hard to bring up death with my grandmother because I know, and she knows, that she is approaching it rather quickly. For me to ask her about death would make it a reality for me and I do not want to admit that.
During lunch today my grandmother addressed the topic unsolicited. She mentioned something about one of her friends who had died recently, and then simply said, “You know, I’m not afraid to die. I’ve had a good life in general and I’m ready. I know I’ll live at home with the Lord.” She then looked down at the table and said emphatically, “Mmmm potatoes!” She scooped mashed sweet potatoes onto her plate with a smile.
I remained staring at her incredulously. Potatoes? When I think about death the last thing in the world I would be able to appreciate is mashed potatoes. Someday soon I will not be able to kiss the top of my grandmother’s head and tell her that I love her because she will be gone forever. Potatoes? Both of my parents will die and I will be alone. Potatoes? I, too, may stop living at any moment and enter the dark mystery of death. Potatoes?
I hesitate to revert to cliched elderly wisdom in order to explain my Grandmother’s simple appreciation of life while looking into the vague eyes of death. Yet I cannot attribute it to her dimentia either. Is it wisdom and experience that allow a person to concede imminent death while scooping mashed sweet potatoes? Or is it a senile lack of proportion? Or is it her faith in Jesus? Am I missing one or all three of these?
Could I be able to enjoy the nourishment of a simple meal with the devil breathing over my shoulder and his friend Death tugging at my shirt? Could I live unafraid of either living or dying? Could I say death and potatoes in the same sentence?
