Giggling Lelah.

I live in housing that is subsidized by the federal government. Most of us who live there, like me, don’t have very much money. Most of us are elderly, because the elderly tend to have limited financial resources. There are a fewer younger folks, but they are not in good health. Me, I am almost 66, and I’m one of the youngest and healthiest. While living here, I have had to confront my fears of old age, my prejudices against the aged, and other unlovely aspects of my attitudes. (I have learned them from our society, of course, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t confront them.) Slowly, although I am not there a lot of the time, I am coming to know and appreciate my neighbors.

Take Lelah, for instance. Lelah lives across the hall from my next-door neighbor. I don’t know a whole lot about Lelah. She is, I think, 87 years old. She has a kind face and a ready smile, and she is almost as deaf as a fence post. She has a cat, which she has named Oreo presumably because the cat is black and white. I have heard Oreo; I haven’t officially met her.

I have discovered that I can get Lelah to hear me if I raise the pitch of my voice, and with that I have begun to get to know her a little. Helped her with our new laundry machines. Greeted her in passing. Little things like that. One night recently, I was gifted with an entirely new view of this elderly lady. It was just before the Thanksgiving holiday, and I was on the way downstairs to mail an insurance payment when I noticed Lelah out in the hall. I stopped to chat for a moment. She had found an old cornucopia in her apartment; she had put some grapes in it and was setting it outside her apartment on the little table she keeps for seasonal decorations. (Many of the residents keep decorations in the hall.) I stopped to admire it, and to agree that it made her display look like Thanksgiving was coming.

Lelah began to reminisce about the days when she was younger. Her sister-in-law always cooked the Thanksgiving meal for the entire family, which was held on the Sunday after the holiday because some of the younger family members didn’t want to be there on the actual holiday. “I remember one year,” Lelah went on, “when my sister-in-law said, ‘I don’t know where Molly goes but she is never here on Thanksgiving Day.’” Then a glint appeared in the elderly lady’s eyes. “I didn’t say anything, but I knew where Molly went.” She chuckled. “You know, you can’t always say what you’re thinking. It just doesn’t do. It makes bad feelings.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “we can’t always tell everything we know even when it’s the truth.”

She began to giggle. She is 87 years old, and she stood in the hall that night giggling her head off. I don’t know what memories had been awakened by our conversation, but I know she was enjoying them in that moment. It was delightful. I enjoy hearing people laugh, I just like the sound of a good laugh, and I very much enjoyed hers. I was laughing too, mostly because she was. The more she laughed, the more I enjoyed hearing and watching her, and the more my own pleasure grew. For a while we just stood there laughing. When I pulled myself away to get in the elevator to mail my insurance payment, she was still giggling. I hadn’t known she could be so mischievous, but she certainly was at that moment. Yes, mischievous and even impish.

We often ignore the elderly, but they have lived many years and they have their stories to tell, and their experience and wisdom to share. They like to talk about the things they remember, and often we younger people are impatient with that. But if you can be open to it, you may find yourself learning or enjoying it just as much as the elderly person does. It is a good process, to listen to them tell about their experiences. It validates life.

Lelah has a kind face and a ready smile. And there is still a touch of mischief inside her. She is going to be fun to get to know.