Cleaning Irma Garski's

There is a housebound widow in our neighborhood named Irma Garski. How is that for a name that rolls off the tongue? Irma immigrated from Germany in 1952. She lives in a tiny apartment not far from where I live. Since she is housebound, the ladies in the church, take turns going over to clean her home.

Her apartment is tiny, tiny, tiny. There is a bedroom, small kitchen, living room, and bath. Every available space in the apartment is filled with brick-a-brack of every variety. A multitude of family pictures line every shelf. The walls are covered with hangings of every kind. When I was there Saturday, I noticed a black felt scroll hanging with a map of St. Croix. Irma's hearing is bad and it makes conversation difficult, so I couldn't really ask her about it. But I wondered. Was this a vacation she went on? If so, was it wonderful or a disappointment as dream vacations can be sometimes? Or was this a souvenir brought back for her from a family member who leads a more adventurous life than Irma? Who knows? Around the apartment are romance magazines of every kind written in German. As I clean, I wonder how her family will ever distribute all of these things when she is gone. Or will they end up boxed up and given to a thrift store, an entire life picked over by strangers looking for a deal?

Irma has her sheets ready for changing. It takes just a few minutes to vacuum the apartment. The bathroom is spotless so there is never much to do there. I was intimidated at the idea of dusting the thousands of knick-knacks the first time I went, but I noticed that there was not a speck of dust to be found on any of them. Irma cannot see very well, so I don't know how she does it. Her mind isn't too sharp either because one time I mentioned it and she said she did it herself. Then in the next breath, she talked about someone who comes in and does it for her.

The first time I met her, she was uncomfortable with having someone she knew so little come into her home. It was wintertime and she was lonely and blue. I asked her about her children. She said that she had two, one that lived close and one further away; but she doesn't see them often. And she told me that she had grandchildren. I said, "Aren't they the best?" She said, "Well, I don't know about that. They never come around." I saw into the future to a time when Pete would be too busy to drop in to see me. She kept saying, "It's not much of a life" over and over. She apologized again and again for needing my help. I said, "Well, that's what we do. I help you. Sometimes others help me. That's how it works."

Yesterday when I visited her, she was more relaxed. Spring has come and she does have regret that she can't get out more. She is on the second floor of the condominiums and can't navigate the stairs. (Note to self: Move to a house with no stairs before it's too late.) Her spirits were a little better and she was more comfortable having me help her. She smiled more and was having a better day.

Well, life is like that. Sometimes we have better days than others. And aging is like that. Eighty-six years old can be busy and productive for some and lonely and apparently purposeless for others. I don't know which lot I'll draw. And I'm new at this aging thing. I'm not too keen on what I've experienced so far, so I would hesitate to give advice on something I'm so new at.

But one thing I do have a little experience at is learning to find joy. And joy is a slippery thing. Sometimes you have to really search, kind of like those hidden pictures that I loved as a child. You know the kind I mean, where an umbrella is hidden in a tree and an ear of corn is hidden in the eves of a house. I have learned that gratitude is tied to finding joy. As Irma talked the first time about how little life was worth living, it scared me a little. I wondered if I was peeking at my own future. But if I've learned something, it's that if I can feel gratitude, I will feel joy. Sometimes you have to dig for the things to be grateful for, but when you find them; they are gold.

For example, Irma is a very lucky lady. She has Eva, a neighbor who comes in and checks on her every day. How wonderful is that? Eva schedules all of the church ladies to come clean. Irma is lucky enough to stay in her own place with her comforts around her. Irma can still read and enjoy vicarious romance in German.

I heard a teacher say once that the virtue of Job was that he praised God even when he lost everything. I have never had to lose everything. I don't know if I've ever known anybody who has. Would I, could I, should I still be grateful if all were taken from me?

The answer is that if I want to be happy, I will be. I hope I am learning to be grateful in the little things now so that I am prepared when the big tsunami's of life hit and hit me hard.

Thank you, Irma, for the opportunity to serve you.