My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach when I realised the time- 11:30pm. For the average 94-year-old, it would be a write-off to even consider bothering them at that time, but not my grandmother. On a night like tonight, she would still be awake.
I knew by her demeanour, the way she slumped when she walked, today was different. January 24th marked the day my grandmother lost her seven year old son to cancer almost 70 years ago. Everyone in my house automatically assumed the heartbreak and melancholy that followed a horror of an anniversary. Nonetheless, we celebrated with grief and reverence.
I promised myself I would talk with my grandmother and I forgot. Probably motivated by my own guilt, I decided to sneak into her room anyway. Not surprisingly, she was awake.
“Hi Nonnina, are you still up? Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to see you before the day ends”.
Her eyes intently looked at me, without any hesitation. She slightly perked her head up to see me better.
“Come in, I’m not sleeping yet.”
Like I was a little girl again, I laid down beside my grandmother and listened to her beautiful, vivid stories for an hour straight. She told me the most vulnerable, detailed stories about her life and her ultimate losses.
During that conversation, I grew overwhelmed with emotion. I felt such honour to be able to have access to this kind of life experience. Here was a woman who lived through a technology-free age, a world war, immigration, love, loss and so much more. We watch movies to experience these kinds of stories, and I have access to them in my own home.
As I went into my room following this conversation, with tears streaming down my face, I felt the compulsory need to talk about the value of the elderly.
It goes beyond the superficial “ou”’s and “awe”’s after a 30 second TikTok or reel of an elderly person. With age comes experience, a certain kind of life lesson that one can only share in the essence of ageing. We can’t rush it or speed it up. We can’t study it in a book. There is wisdom that comes when we’ve lived a life. It’s ethereal in a way, something that can only be experienced in a given time. And, once we finally know the wisdom of a life, we are at the end of it.
In moments when I focused on my grandmother’s face, I noticed her wrinkles – something inevitable at her ripe age. The lines sloped all around her face, in every direction, more in some places than others, all representing a story she lived. Maybe for the first time ever, I could see the beauty in wrinkles. This notion even surprised me. Like many 20-somethings, I’d be lying if the cost of botox in the GTA wasn’t somewhere in my search history, or an embarrassingly high percentage of my income goes towards skincare. As someone who is equally afraid of ageing and the next emerging adult, I still couldn’t help but marvel at my grandmother’s wrinkles.
After I have these talks with my grandmother, I always feel refreshed. Like I’ve spent a day in nature, or on a beach. I feel like a certain part of me has been refilled or made whole again. For me, I’ve discovered that a grounding presence in my life is learning from my elders.
There is so much more to gain from the past than vintage clothes and aesthetic ideas. In these older eras, people lived a whole different life. We can learn from their stories and mistakes. We can take from the parts that are good and mourn the parts that aren’t. That’s the beauty of history.
I will forever feel grateful to have access to the life and stories of my grandmother. As someone who has always romanticized the past and who is constantly afflicted by nostalgia – I never get tired of hearing from the older generations. It is a gift to have a glimpse into a life well lived.