Viola Holthus- Care home mediator and wise grandma
This is the beautiful Viola Holthus, my 89 year old grandmother. She lives alone in a house in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota – the same house where my mother was raised. I could fill novels with the stories she has shared with me about her life over the years. Often times I wonder how to discreetly tape our conversations on my phone, but I become captivated by her stories and forget. A few weeks ago I was captivated once again when my cousin Sarah and I visited her. It wasn’t long until we were both sitting down at her dining room table, store brand soda in hand, listening to her stories. For some reason, this particular afternoon, they moved me deeply.
In fact, I was replaying our conversation for hours afterward. As I share one of her funny stories, I hope you, too, are deeply moved. By her kindness. Her sense of purpose. Her humor. And her determination to love others well. Here is just one of her many stories...
Every Wednesday from 9am-2:30pm Vi visits six elderly people in a local retirement home (who often are younger than her). One day she walks in to talk to Doris.
But Doris is mad. She passionately tells Vi with disgust, “I hate Betty (her roommate).”
With a sweet but corrective tone, Vi replies, “Oh no, Doris. You can’t hate her.”
“Oh yes. I absolutely hate her,” assures Doris.
Unwilling to tolerate this, Vi comes up with a solution. “Doris, I’ll bring you a special treat every week if you’re nice to Betty.”
(Vi broke her narrative here to make sure we knew that Doris was a diabetic and that Vi had to be very careful about what treats she brought. So for her treat, Vi counted grapes, calculating their sugar content.)
She continues her story…
Doris is skeptical of Vi’s strategy. “How will you know if I’m being nice to her?”
Vi replied, “Well, that’s easy.
I’ll just ask Betty!”
“OH no no no,’ complained Doris. “You can’t do that. She’ll just lie to you.”
Well then, I’ll just ask the nurse,” Vi continued.
Vi is persistent. Doris concedes. (Everyone usually does)
A few weeks later, Vi comes to visit Doris but before she steps into the room, Betty stops her in the hallway. “Vi. I am irritated. I don’t know what’s gotten into Doris, but she is being so nice and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s so annoying!” (Imagine my sweet old grandma winking at you across the table and chuckling; enjoying her small victory)
I’m nearly to tears. My grandma’s unrelenting, stubborn, no-nonsense kindness moves me. But before I can reach over to squeeze her hand because my heart is swelling with immeasurable pride, she’s on to her next story.
Which is equally funny and touching.
My heart bursts.
Sarah needs to leave and for the next few hours Vi shares more with me. About when she waited from age 18-23 for Grandpa to return from war, intending to marry him. About the phone call from his parents that he had died - and her absolute refusal to believe it. And the call weeks later that there was, indeed, a mistake. He was alive. We cried and laughed a lot. At one point, we got up from the table and embraced one another. I’ll never forget that moment. Her hug. In her kitchen. Tears leaking down our cheeks. Wife to wife. Woman to woman.
This is what I’ve learned: we are never too old to influence others.
But it’s bigger than that. We are never…
Too damaged. Too broken. Too young. Too timid. Too sick. Too busy.
In the words of my grandma, “I don’t want to be a burden on others. But if God allows, I want to live to 100. Not to go to Hawaii or have more stuff. But I want to help others. I have so much I want to do!!!” I hug her goodbye with salty tears dried on my face. I squeeze her little frail frame, and kiss her forehead. And as I drive away replaying her words over and over, she begins preparing food for her church’s weekly dinner for the homeless.
