Rhythm

Anybody who hasn't seen "The Visitor" should. I sat down last night and found out way I've been recommended this movie by multiple people over the last month. It's amazing. I don't know if Richard Jenkins is deserving of an individual Oscar, but the movie itself definitely is. Pure beauty. I plan on breaking out my drum today.

Rhythm. What a cool word. Rhythm. It's funky. It even has rhythm. I think that everyday has a sort of beat- a basic rhythm.  I also think that each person has this. If we are quiet and attentive enough to listen to how best blend our rhythms with those of the day, we make beautiful music. And some days are masterpieces. Some are just so so. Some days it's clear that the rhythms don't match up. Random thoughts.

Got to share some tender moments with both Granny and Gramps this morning. Granny, as previously mentioned, has been constipated for some time, and finally pooped last night. Though apparently this much anticipated movement didn't provide full relief. Gramps said that she slept like balls and she definitely looked like it. I also noticed that she smelled like a blend of sweat and urine. I mentioned this to her and she said that she hadn't showered in a while. I'm getting to the tender moments I swear. So as Grandpa went outside this morning to go work out in the yard, I plopped down on the couch with Grams. She asked me to rub her legs and began to cry. She just hates feeling like this. She's very clear on that. It's just so weird because she starts crying and then in between tears starts talking about what she's just seen on TV. I'm sure she's always been a bit scattered, but it does make it very difficult to take her seriously. Her volatility keeps us all a bit on edge...and I don't think that's accidental. I don't think it's conscious either, but that's evolved as a way for her to keep people close. But enough diagnosing, the hard part is watching her pretty much have no life outside of the couch and CNN. Harder still is watching Grandpa try to figure out how to help her. 

So I went for my usual 30 minute run and came back to the basement to stretch. While I'm stretching I hear Grandma doing her sort of slightly manipulative, mostly genuine weeping. I hear Grandpa start down the stairs. He's got that look on his face that's like: "What am I supposed to do God!?" Which probably isn't too far from what I imagine is running through his head. I stand up and ask him simply how he's doing and he starts to cry. I give him a hug and hold him close. Funny enough, in this tender moment he actually grabbed my butt with both hands. I think our height difference was mostly responsible for this (not to mention my butt is kinda grabable...that's right- grabable). He gathered himself slightly embarrassed to be needing his grandson's hug, and said he didn't think he should go skiing today. I assured him that I could stay here for the rest of the day so that he could feel good about getting outside for some good exercise and fresh air. I also reminded him that sometimes it's the times when he feels like he shouldn't go that he should. Take a break Gramps. Feel good about taking care of you. I told him all these things and acknowledged that it's clearly his choice, and that I'd help him out with whatever he wants to do. Tender.

Now this may sound strange, but it felt so good to be there for Grandpa and Grandma. There's something profound about sharing this difficult situation with them- and I'm now clear that my presence here is in some small ways helpful to them. Up to this point, to be honest, I have felt like it's mostly good for me. But recently, I see how important it is to share this time together- all of us. For this I'm grateful, humbled, and challenged pretty much everyday in some small way. I think I also realize how short this time really is as well. I have already been here three months-more than half over. I feel the urgency of making the most of this time.