Forsythia

Some years ago, in the mid-80's, I became the caregiver for my maiden great-aunt Ada who was losing her vision due to macular degeneration. She moved to a senior residence we had chosen in Alexandria, Virginia which had an attached nursing home facility should that need for her arise. Ada now saw things in a dark, grey shadow but she could distinguish black, white and the color yellow. Since she was a fastidious dresser, she attached small pins to all her skirts, blouses, sweaters and gloves as a guide: one pin for blue, two green, three red, and four for lavender. During the twelve years I was her caregiver, I never took her out to shop or for a drive but that she was not perfectly dressed -- and always wore gloves, no matter the season.


In the spring of her 96th year she began to suffer mini strokes of the brain which her doctor explained to me were much like a short circuit when a fuse blows out. She would get the right ball park but the wrong base. For example, she said, "My drapes won't sleep across," meaning 'pull across' or "My iron won't play," and she had forgotten she had unplugged her radio. As I was driving her to lunch that early spring she saw the forsythia and exclaimed, "Oh, look, the forsythia is talking." I didn't correct her. And from that day every spring as the forsythia comes into bloom, I say that myself: "The forsythia is talking." The delicate yellow bloom tells us that winter is past, spring is here and summer is on its way. The marvel of this earth has awakened once again from its winter's slumber and now offers itself in all its beauty to us. I cherish the memory that a legally blind, 96-year old senior taught me to truly see, and hear, spring.