I’ve been thinking lately about how one life has the power to shape our reality…The people who live and walk in love, how they make the atmosphere lighter and brighter and make the days more beautiful. There are many souls at Awakenings Health that do this for me! As my next wedding anniversary approaches, I’ve recalled my old and evergreen friend, Grace! 

She had one of the loveliest faces I have ever seen and I had never known an elderly woman to make her way through the front doors like this. Especially not one in their 90s. It was clear that her walker was just something that her son was having her use to prevent any problems. Her shoulders were squared, she was built like a dancer and she was sure of every step. 

“Mama here doesn’t really need this walker, but my wife and I want her to use it at all times here at the senior center because we want to always be in broken bone prevention mode.”  His lilting southern drawl fit with what I had seen on our new client’s paperwork. The family was originally from Savannah, Ga. 

We were all amused to observe over the next few weeks that Graces’ s son was, by appearances, much older than his mother. He was slightly bent and his furrowed face looked like he had lived 70 years of hard days, while the woman who had brought him into this world was always laughing and vivacious. Her hair was a halo of white and her soft milky skin showed a fine web of lines, still she was ageless. Her bright, quick spirit and constant smile made her so. 

Grace, the oldest participant at the adult day-care center where I was employed, helped us take care of the clients who were 20 years her junior. She had such compassion with the “young folks” especially–those who were in their late 60s and early 70s spending their days with us usually due to Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease. She also would keep me informed of client needs–she would notice when a participant needed extra attention, she would advise us on music selections for relaxation time–”less Pachelbel, more Sinatra”-and she inspired us all to live with just a bit of her presence and sense that life is good. 

Every single Monday through Friday, I was delighted to see her show up in the morning and sad to see her depart in the evenings. 

Whatever Grace spoke about regarding her past, it always sounded straight out of a Frank Capra film. She talked about the gift of growing up in a place like Savannah, Georgia and her friendship with the author John Berendt, who had written the newly released best-seller, “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil,” but most of all she talked about her dear husband, Hugh. Hugh had made Grace very happy in their marriage. He never spoke harshly to her, always remembered her birthday and her mother’s birthday and not once in her marriage did he question how much she had paid for one of her dresses or Sunday outfits. She would always tell about how after she’d go clothes shopping she’d offer to show him the bill. “No need, Dear,” he’d say. “I trust you.”

When Grace found out that I had just gotten engaged, she was as excited as I was. For months she listened to me as I parsed out the wedding plans. 

“The only thing you’ll want to insist upon is that you’re married on a Wednesday.”

I had been carefully taking notes as Grace went with me over things I’d need to make sure were covered for the big day: writing our own vows, I needed to order a sixpence to wear in my shoe, what would my something blue be?, she directed me to have a small wedding and the nicest honeymoon you could afford. “Big weddings just make everybody tired and worried,” Grace would say. Every bit of advice and direction she had to give was a treasure to me, but marrying on a Wednesday? That did not square with my summer weekend wedding fantasy. 

“A Wednesday, Grace?” The notion of telling my family that I’d be changing our wedding day to the middle of the week was unnerving at best. 

“Yes, Love. The tradition goes like this: Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses and Saturday no luck at all. I’m not as superstitious as most folk from Savannah, but you’re telling me you want to have a happy marriage so why not cover all of your bases? Do what Hugh and I did–make it a Wednesday! Of course it sounds silly, sure, but I’ve found the old women’s wisdom has at least one foot in the truth. Some kind of truth!” And with that she let out one of her joyful cackles. “When Hugh and I would have a squabble, we’d remind ourselves that we had been married on a Wednesday, so everything had to turn out fine.”

Everything Grace ever said either left me comforted, amused or educated and I cannot say the same of anyone else in this world. 

I was 5 months away from getting hitched to my sweetheart and it seemed that I daily heard some new cautionary tale about marriage. But not Grace. She always smoothed the frayed edges of my mind.

I remember talking with Grace one afternoon in a particularly crestfallen state, I was frankly growing terrified about the upcoming Big Day. Several folks in my life had nearly soured me to the whole idea of marriage telling me that my Gabriel was Mr. Wonderful now, but that once I married him, he’d be a whole different story. Oh, sure, he’s nice now…How many times had I heard that cynical phrase? But was it cynical? Or was I just naive to think my beloved future husband would stay beloved? Oh, sure, he’s nice now, rattled about in my brain like some malignant mantra. 

“That is foolish talk, my young friend. They are filling your head with poison; don’t let them do it. Is Gabriel kind to you now?” 

“Yes.” 

Is he kind to his parents and siblings?’’

“Always.”

“How does he treat the cashier at the grocery store?” 

“Heavens, I don’t know.” 

“Well, this weekend arrange for you two to go to the grocery store and watch how he treats the cashier. I watched Hugh like a hawk before we got hitched. And he was the sweetest fellow the Good Lord ever thought up. I watched how he treated strangers. Anybody can treat their own good, but how do they treat the one they don’t know? Hugh treated everyone like they were his brother or sister, so I knew that I had a good man. And, of course I put my eagle eye to how he looked at good-looking women when he didn’t know I was watching. If Hugh had ever had lust for another woman other than me, he never showed it, God bless him. 56 years of marriage and he never once had the roving eye. Some women don’t seem to mind the roving eye, but it would have broken my heart if Hugh was that kind of fellow. I made sure he wasn’t before we bought the rings!” 

Grace’s wisdom about what was unfolding in my life brought me such a deep comfort that over the next few months I was actually able to enjoy planning for our July nuptials. And I particularly enjoyed observing my fiance. In grocery stores. On the street. On the road while he was driving. He looked like he was going to turn out like Grace’s Hugh. 

That was nearly three decades ago, and Grace has been gone for almost as long. But she still inhabits my life with her evergreen warmth and beauty. I try not to allow myself to slump when I recall how she carried herself; I try to remember to watch out for others and to treat strangers like family and to have a little more Sinatra in life. And after almost 26 years of being a Mrs., I imagine that I am just as happy as Hugh made Grace. And the fact that we got married on a Wednesday has been added insurance. I’m not superstitious or anything, but like Grace said, most of the “old women’s wisdom has at least one foot in the truth!” 

By Deana Vassar, Awakenings Health, 2021