My grandmother grew up on a tiny Maritime island, a stone’s throw from the ocean. Her father was a fisherman, and lived his life by the tides and the catch. Every day she saw, smelled, and heard the ocean.
When my grandparents moved out to the Island they built their house with a view of the bay and mountains. Weekly letters when I was little would sometimes detail the number of fishing boats waiting the opening of the Herring season, or comings and goings of larger boats.
Eventually Nana had to move from that house, when she could no longer handle the stairs. The highest priority for her was that she could see the water – and she wound up with a wonderful condo that went beyond that requirement. From her bedroom, livingroom, and kitchen table you can see the masts of the sailboats, the comings and goings of fishing boats, the sunset shades of the mountains.
But now she’s in the long term care facility of the hospital in her town. For two years she’s had a bed in a four-person room, with a view of a parking lot, three unresponsive room mates, one who blares the television day in and day out. Hardly as soothing and relaxing as a view of the bay. For two years she’s been on a waiting list, but convinced that she’ll never have her view again.
Tonight we had a fantastic phone call from the facility.
A window bed on the other side was open, and Nana was next on the list. While I hate to rejoice at the circumstances that must have led to a bed opening in a facility like that, the truth is that I can’t help it. Even if her new room mates are unresponsive, heck, even if one blares her TV, Nana has a view to watch again. She had already been down to see the room, and sounded thrilled from what I could overhear of the conversation. She’ll be able to see the bay and the mountains again.
A great way to start the New Year.
Happy New Year everyone – I hope your evening has love, surprises, and new beginnings!