imagine lying on your back in a hammock under the stars with a soft gray cashmere blanket and a cup of perfectly sweetened chai tea - remembering a life almost finished - hair snow white - reading glasses long ago replaced with thick bifocals - wrinkles deep, but none so bottomless as the laugh lines around the sweet old smiling mouth. imagine the wisdom it took to laugh through a life laced with pain and struggle - sickness and health - joy and loss so big - so endless it almost swallowed you whole - but not quite. imagine how grace took over and taught you to wait - to soften - to accept - to remember small joys great enough to get you through a life. imagine whispered words of love passion what's for dinner i'm sick the sky looks like rain what will we do if he dies if she dies if they leave us if the dog needs surgery if the insurance doesn't cover the bills. imagine the words not said out of kindness - fear - shame - pride - understanding. imagine a life where we can reach the end and still smile more than cry - walk in the sun equally loving the rain - without thought of anything more than -life is an extraordinary gift - a good solid rough-around-the-edges butcher-knife-sharp sweet and salty gift.

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my grandmother's white hair hasn't been cut in decades and she wears it pulled into a knot on the back of her head - her 90 year old skin is tan and smooth and spotted with age - her blue eyes twinkle as she smiles at life. you know, she said on our last visit, we may have our losses and our disappointments but life is still beautiful. her back curves from all she has carried - children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and now the great great grandchildren have begun - a life of parties and boyfriends by the dozen in her youth - public work, as she called it, in the shirt factory - a rocky marriage that ended 20 years ago with my grandfather's death - siblings, 6 in all, gone one by one - her beloved son's death before he was ready. losses, solitude she did not choose, suffering, but still she sees beauty. her speckled hands remind me of days long ago when we sat on the porch swing as she braided my hair with hands so strong my eyes sometimes pulled at the corners. other times those hands gently smoothed and cooled my tousled head in the heat of summer. mema never gets hot - never breaks a sweat. her smile has always been present - calm - loving - quiet in the storm. she lives with blackie and penny - her beloved dogs who are also survivors - rescued from hopeless futures. so she cooks for three and penny can't get enough dr. pepper and what would happen if the girls didn't get their snack before bed. she goes to church - reads her bible - cans more tomatoes and corn and pickles than she will ever have time to eat - visits the old people in the nursing home - takes walks in the park in sunny weather - makes quilts and brings homemade pecan pies to every holiday gathering. she has said goodbye to more people than i have ever known, met death and life and god face to face - and still she smiles.