“You can do anything you set your mind to” – Benjamin Franklin.

This past week, Stella and I were out for an afternoon walk when we were approached by a man, wondering if he was going the right way. I, not well known for my directional prowess, decided to google map the best walking path. Sure enough, it was different than my initial thought, and I offered to walk the route home with him. Roy, we will call him, has a learning disability and has been visiting his mother in hospital as she had had a stroke. His dad had died 9 years ago, and it was just him and his mom left at home. He made the walk daily to spend a few hours with her. He said that a few kilometers were just a continuation of his new walking regimen, which had resulted in the loss of 40 pounds. After his dad died, Roy decided he needed to be healthier, and now that his mom was ill, he wanted to be stronger to support her.

This reminded me of my maternal grandfather, who had started running post-retirement. His career entailed 30 years sitting at a desk as a clerk for a mid-sized city and physically flattening as a result. I don’t remember those days, but I do remember, once retired, how he loved to run, garnering many trophies as an outcome. Grandpa ended up living his latter years with dementia. As sad as this was, it was also the happiest I had ever seen him. He joked, laughed, and was finally enjoying life. I wonder if he had always wanted to be this way but didn’t know how.

Grandma seemed never to enjoy Grandpa. She would roll her eyes and make this funny little puff sound, pushing air through her pursed lips whenever he would talk. You would think this would cause Grandpa to avoid Grandma, but then, on one hot summer day, Grandma was hospitalized about 10K from where they were living. Grandpa, clad in his three-piece suit, fedora, and dress shoes, decided to visit her.  It was a couple of hours before he was noticed missing. A search ensued, and he was located about 7K into his journey, sprawled on someone’s front lawn, taking a rest. Even after all the eye-rolling and pursed lip puffs, he was determined to see the woman who once loved him.  

I find it interesting that both stories involve the same hospital, mode of transportation, and the importance of not leaving someone alone. Neither could drive or determine a bus route, so they set out on foot, not caring about any obstacles that might be faced. Their internal radar determined their moves, and love pushed them forward.

I plan to retain this last mode of transportation well into my sunset years. It could be helpful if I need to visit a loved one or get away from any pursued-lipped puffing directed at me.