Crabby Old Woman

After Beth Tephila service, Oneg Shabbat (the meal after the service) and the Jewish Discussion Group the past two Saturdays, my husband & I have visited Ruth. Ruth has suffered a couple of strokes in the last 18 months. The strokes left her extremely weak on the left side, unable to communicate well anymore and unable to follow long conversations. Just before her 81st birthday in March, her family moved her to a small assisted-care home. She lives there with 8 other elderly women, but has her own bedroom, bathroom and large walk-in closet. Ruth's face lights up when she sees us, so we know that she recognizes us as friends. She tries to communicate, but quickly becomes frustrated since the words she is thinking are not the garbled words that come out of her mouth. She is sitting lopsided in the wheelchair and lost her slipper socks somewhere down the hall. She clutches a stuffed cat that she strokes and talks to. We have learned that if we sing some of the main old hymns of the faith that Ruth learned by heart and played over and over as a pianist for years, she is able to join into the singing. She correctly sings long phrases of the hymns and even harmonizes in a nice soprano voice. This week we all got carried away and sang for over an hour. Ruth was tapping her right foot, the one unaffected by the stroke. She wore a huge smile the entire hour. We hated to leave after so enjoying the visit. When we returned home, a friend had e-mailed us a selection that so fit with Ruth that it was uncanny. Here it is. It is worth the read.

Crabby Old Woman

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Assn. for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking, when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eye.

Who dribbles her food, and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice, the things that you do,
And forever is losing, a stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now, a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows, that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide, and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other, with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons, have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me, to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years, and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman, and nature is cruel,
'Tis jest to make old age, look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone, where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living, life over again.

I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact, that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; look closer...see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without
looking at the young soul within... we will all, one day, be there too!