Today I spent the afternoon with my youngest child's kindergarten teacher. She's 87, and curious and spry for any age, and she had found a small art show at an art center in a nearby town and we toddled over there and enjoyed gouashes by David Park. There was another room of various artists as well and we took our time and then I drove her to a bakery where she had a piece of Tres Leches cake and I had a cafe au lait. She peppered me with questions about former students who were friends of my daughters, and she expressed a sadness that her oldest grandchild has chosen to go to college on the east coast, and not in an easily accessible place.
So she's coping with a kind of empty nest that grandparents as well as parents face. My grandchildren are small and that seems far away, plus my oldest granddaughter is already two states away so I've lived with that sadness all along. But I was grateful I gave her the time and space to express what was happening with her, and listen. Loss manifests in many ways, some surprising. I hope the outing cheered her up. I was glad to be useful and a friend to her. I learned something as well: people are never too old to experience loss and battle change. It's in our nature. She's fully alive, and I appreciate those strong feelings. We care, up until the time we die. Isn't it amazing?
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