by Terah Van Dusen

Grandma Peggy is a ticking bomb. I can’t predict when she’ll stop. Stop ticking. I know only that she will. I know only that I will be there. If not physically, then spiritually, somehow. I know only that my mother, her daughter—Moonbeam—will be somewhere near Lake Erie when it happens.

I wash dishes by hand, swiveling a sponge inside a mason jar, trying to get at some milk gunk with a scratchy green corner. Will it be a sunny day, a slow day, a work day? Will it be morning or midnight when she goes? Will my daughter, Autumn, be with me when I get the call? Will we be in Tucson, with Grandma Peggy? Or here, on the farm?

I’ve been preparing for months, maybe years, for the inevitable. What is happening is that I am losing a parent.

In a corner of my mind, I gently suggest to the Universe that it arrange that she go out at midnight, in her sleep. That she would not know what happened in the slightest—not at all. That she would just wake up with the mermaids, the selkies, and the centaurs of her very own artwork. Of her creations: this artist. I gently ask the Universe to conjure up her wildest imagination to slip into, peacefully…a splatter-painted afterlife, smelling of acrylic and oil and blank canvas, waiting to be filled.

We’ve discussed where the paintings will go: With me, into climate-controlled storage. Though we don’t say it out loud, we hope the family will scuffle some over possession of her paintings and clay sculptures.

Grandma Peggy’s claim-to-fame is that Dennis Hopper of Easy Rider bought a painting of hers during an exhibit at the Fort Worth Art Center in the 1960s. The painting, she said, was of a field mouse sitting on a fence looking out over the horizon.

“It was a far out painting, and he was a far out actor,” she told me.

We’ve discussed other details, too, other than storage. Like if she wants to be cremated, or buried.

“If I still look good,” she said, pulling a cream kimono with red detailing out of the closet. “Dress me in this.”

I pictured her laying there, arms faintly crossed, large, droopy kimono sleeves. Would they tuck into the casket right? The sleeves? Here she had her arms splayed out into the air, as if she were ready to take flight. The sleeves look great, in this setting.

“That’s nice,” I’d replied, of the kimono. I was trying to play it cool. Act like planning for a death was the most natural thing.

Except that it wasn’t. 

Too much. Too soon.

I shuffled, barefoot, as she placed the kimono back in the closet, steadying herself with one hand on her walker.

I sat down awkwardly at the foot of her bed, then stood up. I was watching my toddler pull silk scarves from a basket on the floor.

A few years ago, the roles were reversed. I used to rely on her. Now we were trying to have her rely on me. Worst of all, there is no one I can talk to about all of this because the person who would do that for me is her.

I don’t really resent my mother. I believe we are all doing the best we can, with what we have, inside, outside, and so on. I also am feeling that being Grandma Peggy’s single support person—a medical and financial Power of Attorney (are you her POA? a doctor recently barked), is a humbling, isolating journey, even from a distance. Me in Oregon, her in Tucson.

It is especially humbling trying to navigate a move for her in pandemic times. Now that we’re vaccinated, we are pursuing it again. She should be near us, in her place of origin.

Her current live-in help is a lovely band of care. Three Filipino women: Ruthie, Tina and Clarice.

They paint her nails and cook and I feel like the Power of Nothing. But I am grateful, so grateful, for them.

I wonder if when Grandma Peggy goes, or if she falls and needs to go to the hospital again, or if she eats too many pot edibles again, just trying to curb the pain in her spine…

I wonder if Ruthie, Tina or Clarice will text me or call me this time. I wonder what they will say to this near stranger.

I imagine three words: I’m. So. Sorry.

I cannot predict if the day will be rainy, sunny, September, or June. I just know that the simplest pleasures—my morning cup of coffee, for instance—just won’t taste right or go down right, for a very long time.

I wonder if I will scream or stay quiet.

But most of all, I will wonder what was going through hermind in those precious moments stone-stepping toward her departure from this lively, colorful, dimension that I know she loves so much.  I hope it feels as if there’s a paintbrush in her hand, steady, not shaking. And that she feels she is poised, as always, to paint something extraordinary.

Terah Van Dusen is a poet and essayist near Eugene, Oregon. She writes, and takes photographs, for a local newspaper. Her body-of-work is composed of autobiographical essays, poetry and prose. She aspires to publish a memoir about her upbringing off-the-grid in Northern California. You can read her work at www.terahvandusen.wordpress.com.

April 24, 2021                             Volume 6: Issue 1

by Karen Lynn Woo

During the 2020 presidential campaigns, former president Donald Trump continued to promote his slogan “Make America Great Again,” while President Joe Biden promoted the slogan, “Build Back Better.” Both slogans pointed to how the actions/plans of the presidential candidates might restore the country to the number one place America once held among the nations of the world. Yet I remember reading a story many years ago about a man who came to the United States from, I believe, China to study the American way of life in order to discover what made America the great nation it was. After 3 years he was asked if he had reached a conclusion, to which he responded in the affirmative. His conclusion was that what had made America a great nation was its strong moral compass. Sadly, even then he said he could see it disintegrating.

Looking back over the years, it is clear the man was right. With the decline of the Church has also come the decline of our moral compass, as well as the decline of our nation. Yet comparatively few seem to have noticed this correlation. Belief in God is considered at best a crutch and at worst foolishness to today’s young people.  Not surprising since this is what was taught to them by those considered wise and discerning at a time when churches were turning inward and preaching to themselves or morphing into peace and justice organizations. The question is, from whence do we get our moral compass if not from the God who commands us not to dishonor our elders, not to lie, not to steal, not to kill others, not to commit adultery or even pursue someone else’s spouse or possessions? Certainly not from those who wield their political power, knowledge of science/technology, wealth, physical or military strength, fame, etc. to force others into thinking it is okay that:

• Violence is used to demonstrate they are right and you are wrong, or to kill others on the basis of race or skin color.
• Abortion has led to the death of millions of children who have been murdered both inside and outside the womb.
• Political leaders have lied, cheated, stolen, and/or otherwise forced America to do their bidding “for the greater good.”
• Hundreds of thousands of Americans have died and continue to die of Covid 19, many of them dying alone.
• Hundreds of thousands of migrants stand waiting outside America’s southern border or are on their way to do so; and tens of thousands have already entered the nation despite the fact that hundreds of thousands of Americans have no job, no food, and/or no home.
• A historic mental health crisis has risen across the generations, most notably in our young people.
• Social media bullying has risen across the generations, from elementary school children to members of Congress.
• There is increased mistrust, racism, hatred, and division in our country.

No longer do we hear the paraphrase of Beatrice Hall, “I disagree with what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it.” Instead, what we hear and see across our nation is this: “I disagree with what you say and am willing to kill you for saying it.” AND, there are people who are willing to bail them out of jail if they do so.

“Yet hope remains while the Company is true.” The Company, of which elven queen Galadriel spoke in J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings, was a small company of diverse beings whose mission it was to save the world from one who would be its ruler . . . its god . . . similar to those named above whose goal it is to rule America by obliterating the voices of those whose opinions differ from their own . . . by obliterating those whose skin color differs from their own . . . by obliterating those whose “god” is different from their own.

“Yet hope remains” for, like “the Company”, there are churches across the nation and around the world made up of diverse individuals whose mission it is to save the world . . . to love others as they love themselves; sharing the love and hope of Jesus Christ with the unloved and those who are without hope, and working to join together those who “the wise” are tearing apart in an effort to help heal our broken world. Mother Teresa, who left the Loreto convent in Ireland to devote herself in caring for the sick and poor in Calcutta once said, “I want you to be concerned about your next-door neighbor. Do you know your next-door neighbor?” When asked how she was able to help so many people she called a child to her and hugged them. Then did the same with another, and another, and another. “One child at a time,” she replied. She demonstrated Christ’s love to the poorest of the poor, giving hope to the hopeless each and every day for decades, never seeing anyone as being less than herself because of their status, wealth, race, age, or anything else by which we, in America, judge others. To her, they were all God’s children deserving of His love . . . deserving of her love.

On Sunday, April 4^th, people across the nation will spend the day with family/friends hunting for Easter eggs and eating baskets of chocolate bunnies, jelly beans, Peeps, and more. But the real celebration will be found in those churches where God’s people are gathered to rejoice in their Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ; whose death and resurrection have provided the path to eternal life . . . heaven . . . not through the good works of human beings but through His undeserved gift of grace.

The wise would have you believe this is foolishness. No surprise there. 1 Corinthians 1:18, 25 says, “the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” and “the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.” If it is foolish to follow a God who commands us to love others as we love ourselves by feeding the hungry, giving water to the thirsty, taking care of the sick, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, visiting those in prison, and teaching others everything we know about God, His love and His saving grace then be a fool for Jesus. Better to appear foolish to those who deem themselves wise than to appear wise to those who God deems to be fools!

If America is ever to become truly great again, its moral compass will have to be re-established by those the wise call foolish. The question is, as the wise seek to “cancel” the foolish, will the foolish be around long enough to make that happen or will America go the route of other once great nations, destroyed by the foolishness of those who deemed themselves wise?

Karen Lynn Woo is a regular contributor to Purpled Nail and a pastor in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)