Small Favors

Andy and I arrived back in Pittsburgh yesterday, after five days in the Seattle area.

I had a couple of days alone with my grandmother after Pop's memorial service. These were long days, in which Gram mostly slept on her recliner, as the Cartoon network droned in the background, keeping Andy in his own docile haze. I don't know if Gram slept more because of her grief or if it was a consequence of her stroke, of aging. I puttered around her small apartment, wondering what I could possibly say or do to help her.

She told me she wanted to bawl her eyes out, but she never did. Oh, she cried. But something always pulled her back to the present moment. Often this was Andy, finding a ball of yarn and unraveling it all over her living room, or trying to insert a pair of scissors into an electrical outlet. And--unbelievably--she would smile. Laugh even. There was clearly nothing I could do to help Gram, but there was plenty that Andy could. If he didn't bring her to the present, he could take her to the happy past. One of her sons used to stick things in outlets, she recalled. (I thought this must have been my Dad or Jay, but no, it was Joe.)

I asked her, where did she think Pop was now? She replied "Oh, it's as the bible says... " and sighed, "But I'm not thinking of him. I'm selfishly thinking of me and how much I miss him. There's an empty place now, that hurts, way down here..." She longed for Pop to say he loved her again. They were married for 63 years. And they were happy years, she reassured me. "He was a good lover."

Gram asked me, was I scared, traveling alone with Andy? She wanted to know how I arranged for the car and if I minded sleeping in the cottage by myself. Gram is facing an empty bed for the first time.

I realized just how much I lean on Mike. He usually makes the flying arrangements, checks us in at the self-service kiosks, and determines which gate we are flying from. I appreciated this fact when I scrambled to find Gate "E" at the Pittsburgh airport. I managed to end up at a service elevator, where an employee took pity on me. He asked to look at my ticket.

"You're flying from gate B22," he told me.

"Not E?" I was flushed and flustered. Holding on to my active toddler's hand while balancing my purse and carry-on was about all I could manage. Getting both of our shoes on after sneaking his juice through inspections as he screamed for it had winded me. (They found the juice, anyway. After eyeing it suspiciously, it was returned to me.) Didn't I see E clearly marked on our ticket?

"No. I'm afraid the E stands for Electronic. As in, E-Ticket," he said quietly. But then, to make me feel better, added "It happens all the time. The gate number is actually very small...Right there, see? B22,"

"Oh," I thanked him profusely. He accompanied us on the tram, and pointed the way to terminal B. I felt like a complete idiot, of course, but grateful for the small favor. Actually, there were many acts of kindness toward us along the way. Like the rental shuttle driver, who found me a luggage cart, loaded it up with our bags, and sat Andy in the front of it, taking care that his legs were securely in. A different shuttle driver carried our bags all the way to the rental car and loaded them in for us. Sure, they could have been looking for a good tip, but I don't think so. I think they were genuinely pleased to help. As the employee who found us wandering at the wrong elevator mentioned when he said goodbye to us: "No problem. I'm glad I could do something worthwhile today,".

While Pop's presence was acutely missed in the Warm Beach apartment he and Gram shared--I often wondered what he would have said to lighten the heavy mood; it would have been clever and funny--Gram impressed me, as always, with her charm and grace. To everything and everyone, it was "Thank you, Dear." We left her apartment for an outing to Starbucks, and she noticed my rental car parked outside. "Is this your car? Good. I've always wanted to ride in a PT Cruiser," and she slowly climbed aboard, ready for another adventure.