Sweet old women

There is a tiny old Baha'i woman at the Baha'i Center whom I adore. The first night I went to Feast here, she claimed me. Had me sit by her, asked me questions and gave me a few answers. She mostly smiled a faintly bird-like smile, peering up at me with her dark eyes through her thick glasses. Her hair is short and white, slicked and bobby pinned back. She doesn't move well, as she probably suffers from the most severe of arthritis. Her toes cross over each other and her fingers bend in unusual ways. Tiny and old, she says a prayer every Feast that makes my spirit soar. Her English is slow and deliberate, purposeful, and she takes care of the Healing Prayer like it is as delicate as she. She cradles the prayer in her hands, like a still-fluffy chick. Lovingly reciting it, in English, for me.

For the few, brief visits in which I've been able to spend time with Grandmother B., I've collected images, smells, and kind words. I love to think of her and the eagerness with which she stuffed her grandchildren full of her amazing oatmeal cookies. I remember her neat array of antique silver mirrors and brushes. Every morning, she does her hair and make-up and will always be a Proper Lady. I remember a book of poems about Mississippi. It's out of print. I've looked for it. I remember her trying to serve me peaches and cream right after we arrived. I had never had it or seen it and was stuck in a moment of confusion. I remember her calling me Sugar and Darling in a beautiful Southern drawl. I played a few Irish fiddle tunes for her, very poorly, which she loved. I like that she calls my dad Charles, and I like the way she says it. She is an amazing woman, and I'm sorry that I've let it be difficult for me to get out to see her and to even to pick up the phone and call her. I love her. A lot.

Srini's grandmother-in-law's husband died 11 months ago. Thanks to a palm reader fortune teller, she's been living on her own for those 11 months. She was told that if she did not live independently for the year, that she would die before it was through. She has had to learn everything of the world outside of her apartment. Paying the bills, buying the groceries, buying clothes, everything but socializing, are things that were all done solely by her husband. She had to learn everything, except for how to cook. She took us in for the morning, fed us, talked with us, gave us coffee and let us take her picture. She's moving in with Srini next month, but she's been alone, isolated, probably intensely depressed, and our company was a noticeable relief. Her loneliness betrayed her, and she cried as we left. Serene tears wandered listlessly down her face as she said goodbye to the only visitors that she's had in a long time. She seems to accept the tears as if they are he usual companions, unashamed.

Thy name is my Healing, O my God, and remembrance of Thee is my remedy. Nearness to Thee is my hope, and love for Thee is my companion. Thy mercy to me is my healing and my succor in both this world and the world to come. Thou, verily, art the All-Bountiful, the All-Knowing, the All-Wise. - Baha'u'llah.