Thank You Isn't Enough, Hannah

Hannah wrote the following speech for her grandma and me.

How many of you want to be here right now? Wouldn’t it be great to sell everything and walk away holding nothing but a camera? As most of us know freedom isn’t cheap and most often the price is the loss of something that cannot be replaced. My mom and grandma embraced freedom one beautiful spring day and never let go.

I will share bits and pieces of my mother and grandmother for those of you who do not know who they are. Over twenty years ago my grandfather lost the use of his legs. He was born with cerebral palsy and in combination with one too many drinks his legs simply crumpled beneath him one morning. He could no longer take care of himself. My grandmother became his legs and later his hands and arms as his illness progressed. Over the years I watched her become him until she overflowed. My mom moved in and together they completed him. It was a twenty-four hour struggle of lifting, bathing, feeding and adhering to his every need and want. After leading a life as such a strong and powerful person he slowly dwindled into a helpless invalid. He became his greatest fear and instead of accepting it he fought it and the anger that filled him ripped through his mouth. Gratitude was a rarity and a thank you sometimes went completely unnoticed in the string of complaints that flew from his mouth. After being rushed to the hospital one day he slowly lost all those hateful words until there was nothing left but one simple word. Help. It was his last.

When he passed, I noticed a stillness in the house. I traced the holes left by an angry fist and ran my hands over the array of wheelchairs that had collected in the basement over the years. My mom and grandma seemed temporarily displaced, as if their hands and hearts were up in the air, unsure of what to hold onto. I watched those hands take hold of their hearts and with a bang of the screen door they raced outside and wrung out 20 years of restraint. They quickly made plans to sell the resort they owned although it was against my grandfather’s wishes and bought an RV roughly the size of The Queen Elizabeth. They carefully packed all of their keepsakes and distributed them to my brothers and me. With only an empty house left, they stepped outside with their dog and camera and with a whoosh and a few lessons on how to drive a house they were off.

Although ‘hug’ has become a spoken word rather than an embrace and I’m never quite sure where they are, I applaud the unabashed lift of two souls taking flight.