Overtures

Overtures signal change.

The dictionary says otherwise - "a prelude, a musical introduction, a beginning," according to Webster's.

Overtures happen all around us all of the time, whether we notice them or not. They happen in our everyday lives. They happen in nature, in business, as a course of aging and learning...in living and dying.

Overtures aren't just for operas and orchestral arrangements any more.

The last couple of days I've been with my grandmother, and I have noted a decline in her energy level. More naps during the day, and they last longer and the sleep seems much deeper than before, too. Less willingness to go out and ride the scooter, let alone her lack of desire to go for a walk outdoors. She still takes a stroll around three halls, but usually she returns to the apartment saying she couldn't go the distance..."so maybe I'll go do the rest later."

I am fearful of saying goodbye to her, and I know this is selfish.

She is ready to go. She wants to go; step into death and not be here any longer.

We have many conversations, Gram and I. Some disjointed and hit-and-miss on the topic; lots without any sort of clear identifiable topic; many regarding her bowel movements (or perceived lack there-of); but many more dealing with why God won't let her simply pass off her mortal coil and join her family. "I'm the last one, everybody else is gone," she muses bitterly, wistfully. And she is the last of her generation.

She misses her bothers and her sisters-in-law. She misses dear friends. She misses Grandpa. She thinks about why she is still here and what good is coming of it, and questions why He has not called her home.

Gram aches to be out of her body, desirous to be liberated from brittle bones and bladder discomfort. Her sense of purpose long since spent and her independence now replaced by many companions sleeping in her spare room and monitoring her every need and activity. She is ready.

So she goes along from day to day waiting on the phone to ring, hoping for a card or note in her mailbox, following routines that include pills and salt water and a morning cup of coffee while watching the morning show with the sound turned off. Her walks around the halls sometimes result in casual flitters of conversations with other residents, and her return to the apartment means a recounting of the meager encounters.

I tell her instead of waiting for others to begin a chat, YOU engage them in conversation. Lose your apprehension and knock on a door and say hello, but use your time to your advantage so you can share a smile and stave off someone else's loneliness. In doing this, you will ultimately lose hold of your own fears and forget to wish for being 'elsewhere.'

I say, hum a new overture, no matter who's definition you harken too. Play a new melody.