How to Grow Old

My grandma’s story doesn’t involve international travel, or fame. She led a fairly quite life; no potential blip for future history books. But, to me, it’s the most important story of all. It takes place in small Midwestern towns and is about a conservative woman who grew up in a conservative time with conservative beliefs; who, at 95, has shown how to accept and love and change in an imperfect world. It’s a story on how to grow old.

My grandma was born in 1925 - she is now 95 years old. She grew up the youngest of eight brothers and sisters, and she lived with those eight brothers and sisters and her mom and her dad on a farm in Remington, IN.

Over her lifetime, and far too early in it, she was at the bedside of each one of those eight brothers and sisters and her mom and her dad as each one of them died before her. My grandma is 95 and has buried every one of her immediate family members, but sees it as a blessing that she was able to give them care while sick.

When talking about that farm in that small town, she recalls with sparkling eyes times spent playing with her sisters and her brothers and the life that shaped her. A time when wrong was wrong and right was right and God was unquestioned; it would become a strict foundation of solid beliefs for what would in turn become a life spent helping those who shared none of them.

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My grandma has never had a drop of alcohol in her life, but she married an alcoholic and saved his.

My grandma met my grandpa in 1965 at a children’s home in Loda, IL where she was a nurse. While my grandma was taking care of forgotten children, my grandpa was trying to drink away the pain his current wife left him when she abandoned him and their three kids, one being my father. My grandpa would occasionally visit his children and on one day he met a nurse, who, by then, my then three-year-old father was referring to as “mom.”

My grandma fell in love with my grandpa and, though her religion, a devout form of Protestantism, was extremely important to her and her family, she converted to Catholicism in order marry him, and that’s how I got a new grandma and those three kids got a new chance.

My father, her youngest, would grow up to attend Harvard.

My grandpa’s alcoholism was not easy, a common side effect of the disease, and he struggled with depression and outbursts of anger. But my grandma was there for him - she loved him, she saw past his damned flaw. She accepted him for him. My grandpa died when I was six, I’m now 30. When I recently asked my grandma about my grandpa, she said, “at least I had twelve wonderful years with him,” referring to the years he was sober before he died.

In 95 years - 34,675 days - I'm nearly certain my grandma must have experienced anger and regret, heartbreak, and pain, but, at 30, I’ve yet to hear her complain.

My grandma is religious, very conservative, does not drink, lives simply, and gives grandly. She grew up in a different world, a different time, and with different ideals, and by all accounts she could have ended up judgmental and unyielding; at 95 she's earned her time to be stuck in her ways, but that’s far from the case. She has taken in Evelyn, an unwed mother from Brazil who had an abusive husband, and now Evelyn’s grown baby calls her “aunt Eldora.”

When her nephew got a divorce, a huge taboo in their religion (her blood relatives still practice the faith she grew up in), she let him live with her while he got himself back together.

When I was younger, I remember a teenage girl who stayed with her for a little bit. It wasn’t until years later I learned Jamie was her neighbor who was kicked out of her house for using drugs. My grandma gave her a roof and showed her love.

And although my grandma has a little money, she pays the rent of her niece, Bailey, who has a young boy, and a heart condition that makes it difficult for her to work. The rest of the family, the younger, more well off generation, told her to stop, that the niece was taking advantage of her, but my grandma didn’t stop.

My grandma will be the last to turn you away if you’re in need, even if you drink, and are selfish, and have premarital sex and marry the wrong person. If you don’t believe in God, she’ll pray for you anyway. If you don’t follow her conservative beliefs, she’ll accept you anyway. If you’re angry, and hurt and yelling “fuck it” at the world, she’ll sit and listen. She sees the human in humanity, a brilliant trait in this politically heated age. At 95, my grandma has a whole lot to teach a whole lot of people.

I’m afraid I’ve inherited my grandpa’s drinking, judging from the many nights I don’t remember. I’m single, unhappy with my job, and unsure about where I’m going in life. Last time I saw my grandma, she must have noticed the dejected stoop in my stance because, as I walked out the door, she grabbed my hands in earnest and said, “Morgan, if you’re not happy with your job, my god change it!” My grandma is 95 and still believes so strongly in the ability to change. More than I do at 30.

With horribly painful arthritis and an unstable gait, my grandma is still learning. She has taught herself to use the internet and social media– at 95 my grandma DM’d me on Instagram asking me how I got that little moving picture onto my story. She’s now an expert at gifs. This Valentine’s Day I didn’t have a Valentine. I opened up my mailbox and there was a Valentine’s Day card from my grandma. It said, “Since I don’t have a Valentine, I thought you could be mine!” My grandma is 95, lives alone, and has trouble getting around, but she still sent me Valentine’s Day card, the only one I received.

My grandma is 95, but keeps herself busy and keeps herself fancy. She has a standing hair appointment for a perm at the salon in the nursing home across the way from her house, and has given me advice on the best skin cream to use. My grandma is 95 and has the face of a young 80, so I took her advice on the Vanicream.

My skin as never looked better.

My grandma buried her daughter, my aunt Julie, a few years ago, one of the three siblings at the nursing home. At the time of Julie’s death, my grandma had just gone through knee surgery and was told not to travel. My dad told her not to travel, my uncle told her not to travel. Health care professionals said, “Eldora, don’t you travel.” My grandma traveled. She found a way to be there at her daughter’s casket and my cousin’s side.

At 95, my grandma still shows me what it truly means to be human – to love selflessly, to stand up when it’s easier to stand down, to always, always, always be learning. That change is possible, at any age; Valentine’s Day is not just for romance; perms are still a thing; skincare doesn't have to cost a lot; a little bit of love can change a whole lot of lives; and age ain't nothin' but a number.

A life that has stopped changing and caring and accepting is a life that has stopped, and, at 95, my grandma seems to out live me each day.

I want to grow old like my grandma.