Hulda, Elisabetta and Babe: The Senior Sisterhood
(Geezer Hood, Vortexia) – After a miraculous medical recovery, Grandma Babe is again enjoying the climes of independent living at her senior apartment complex. On her first day back to the group dining room her fellow residents actually applauded her return. Two of them in particular -- Hulda and Elisabetta – are women I secretly wish were my BFF’s.
Hulda, as her name implies, is a sturdy woman of Nordic or Germanic descent with a heart of gold. She limps along behind her walker with a smile soaked in sunshine, encouraging everyone she sees. She is the type of person you want to tuck in your purse and take home, like a puppy, for keeps.
“Oh, Babe!” she exclaimed, welcoming Grandma back into the fold. She leaned over her walker, and held Babe’s hand in hers. “We sure missed you around here. It’s so good to have you back again!”
Elisabetta, a gregarious Italian-American, exudes old-world charm and new-world vitality. Fairly tall for being in her 90’s, with perfect posture, olive skin, white hair, and a remarkable flair for fashion, she is at once both elegant and down-to-earth.
Whenever she greets Grandma, she cups her face in her hands and croons, “Ciao, Bella!”
True to her heritage, Elisabetta uses her hands to accentuate every sentence. One day, I noticed she stroked Grandma’s face about ten or fifteen times in the course of a five-minute conversation. Melting as I watched her, all I could think was, “Please, Elisabetta, speak Italian to me and stroke my face.” Oh, to be mothered again!
Of course, the male residents, not as verbose as the women, welcomed Babe back with a wink, a light slap on the back, or a clever pun meant to make her laugh. Since Grandma is still a tomboy at heart, they probably consider her “one of the guys” – something her female counterparts may, or may not, envy. I envy the camaraderie Babe has at her fingertips each day. She simply opens her door when she wants some social interaction and voila, there it is. It’s reassuring for her, and for us, to know she’s never alone.
Don’t get me wrong; senior living facilities aren’t perfect, though they would definitely make for an Emmy-winning sit-com. The same petty dramas exist there as in any living arrangement involving more than one person. There are the token grumps, hermits, and bellyachers. Gossips abound, and every once in awhile tempers flare. (Yes, elderly men are still capable of fist fights; apparently even miniscule levels of testosterone are deadly). One thing is certain, however; there’s always something happening at Babe’s place. Indeed, take age out of the equation and visiting a senior home feels just like walking into a high school. You can feel the buzz.
Despite the standard flaws in human nature present in senior communal living, it’s encouraging to see that the drive to love, comfort, protect, and share someone else’s burden, is equally tenacious. And realizing that sisterhood among women continues into old age is, well, one of the few comforting revelations I cling to as I’m dragged, kicking and screaming, down my own path of decrepitude.
