Oh the Times, they Are a-changin'

For you, patient friends...

...a story:

I live with an old person now.
As you may or may not remember from some previous post, my husband and I decided to live in his grandmother's basement. She's a widow and could use the company and help around the house. We're poor with a baby on the way and could use a rent-free place to crash for a while.

So far it's been quite pleasant. While my husband is at work, I hang out upstairs in the kitchen and sit with her, listen to her stories and keep her company. She's a sweet old lady.

It's different to spend an afternoon with an old person, as opposed to an afternoon with peers. No matter how sweet the old person may be, you'll still have to adjust to the conversations.

For example, with my peers we talk a lot about the future. What our plans are, when we're going to graduate from school, where we're going to go after graduation, the jobs we plan to have, the lifestyle we're going to live...
And we talk about the present. What's going on in so-and-so's life, this professor is amazing, this professor should die in a hole, here's my latest project...

With an old person, we only talk about the past. Memories and stories of children, how they've grown and when their children were born, stories of past escapades, past jobs, past neighbors...
And inevitably, we come back to the topic of death.
"I used to chase with these girls in high school, two of them are dead now."
"He had a coworker with the best sense of humor, they're dead now."
"My neighbor from way back would trade pears for apples with me, she's dead now."
Cancer. Stroke. Heart attack. Plain and simple old age.

When the topic of death comes up with my peers, it's sobering and solemn. We speak softly to reverence the dead, wonder and mourn at how young they were, and are silently grateful that we're still traipsing about on this spinning blue marble we call Home.
But when she, my (new) grandmother, says the word "dead" there's no change in volume, tone of voice, or even a sympathetic pause. That person is dead now. That's what they are. And Death is coming for us, too. That's reality and she's dealt with it.

I, being young and still believing myself to be immortal, am still learning how to adjust to this outlook on Death. I can't pinpoint how she expects me to respond. A soft, sad "oh..." seemed inappropriate. Silent, solemn nod of the head with eyes averted to the floor didn't seem quite right either. Even a subtle eyebrow-raise seemed to be too much.

Now I just put on a poker-face and try to quickly usher her forward, away from Death and on to the next reminiscence. Which is ultimately pointless because we keep coming back to it. I can't get any kind of read on her when she mentions someone has died or is dying - her poker face is impenetrable. Is she sad? Resigned? Anxious that her number is coming up? I can't tell. At all.

I try to read her face to see how she expects me to respond. The weird thing is, I get the feeling that she's looking at me the exact same way.
Don't look at me for the appropriate emotion; you're the one that brought this up, lady!

Now you know what my days are like. Talking about the past and avoiding pop culture references (they just confuse her and explaining them to her is never a satisfying experience).

Speaking of pop culture, I watched the opening ceremony for the Olympics with her this week, in which London celebrated all the fantastic music, movies, television programs and literature it has spawned and spread to the rest of the world. That was interesting to watch with an old person...remind me to tell you about it next time.
Until then...cheers.