Turning 85 is a present for all those who love her

The Boston Herald

Beverly Beckham

When she was 80, we bought her 80 presents. It took a while to find 80 things that an 80-year-old didn't already have and could eventually use, but we did.

We bought shortbread and jelly and notepaper and stamps and dusting powder and assorted teas, and wrapped all the gifts in silver foil and tied them with white bows then placed them in and around a pink hatbox. The presents, by their sheer number, made 80 look inviting. My mother-in-law, surrounded by family and friends, sat in the living room and talked and laughed as she unwrapped each present.

In retrospect, 80 was easy. The worst had passed, we thought. She had already had carotid-artery surgery and a triple-bypass, and, despite vigilant care, had lost the sight in one eye. What more could possibly go wrong?

Today she is 85 and we know. Eighty-five deserves a medal of valor. Eighty-five is Mount Everest, the South Pole, the moon, endless labor, the ultimate endurance test.

When she was 80 we called her the Bionic Grandma. Now we call her the Energizer Bunny because despite all the obstacles life keeps putting in her way, she keeps right on going.

Eleven months ago she buried her best friend, Trudy. She had buried so many other friends, and a husband, and a beloved sister and three of her brothers. But this was an unexpected hurt. Trudy was younger than my mother-in-law and stronger. She didn't get breathless when she walked. She didn't have trouble with her eyes. She was all health and vigor.

Then Trudy got cancer. The day before she was to leave Scotland to come to America for a visit, she called and said she couldn't come. She was too sick. The doctor had told her she was dying. Weeks later Trudy died and my mother-in-law sat alone in her house half a world away and said out loud: "Walk slowly Trudy. Wait for me."

It has been a bad year.

This woman, who used to walk 20 city blocks at a clip, has ulcers on her feet because of poor circulation and walks gingerly now. There was talk of amputation a few months ago, but so far it's been only talk. This woman who everyone said had Bette Davis eyes is now losing the sight in her good eye. She uses four different eyedrops three times a day and prays that she won't go blind. So far she hasn't. Her blood pressure is erratic. She is diabetic and dependent on insulin. She tires easily. Standing at the kitchen sink washing out a tea cup feels like a day's work.

And yet, she remains indomitable. Her spirit falters sometimes, but it doesn't quit. Emma, the nurse who comes in the morning to attend to her feet, but who attends to all of her, listens to what she says, cares about what she says, and keeps her spirit from stalling.

So does Julia next door, a young mother with an infant daughter and a 6-year-old son who has a big family of her own and a million friends, but who counts among them her next-door neighbor "Beckham," whom she visits or brings back to her house for dinner and delivers dinner when Beckham is too tired to go there.

And then there's Lori, who does more than take her to the doctors and to the store and straighten up her house. Lori loves her, too. The three of them are a holy trinity. They were strangers who have grown to love her and that love keeps her going.

She fell Tuesday. One moment she was walking in the door, perfectly fine and the next she was sprawled on the floor. Her bottom lip is purple and swollen to three times its size. She has a lump on her head the size of a baseball and a corker of a black eye. Still she picks herself up and goes on. "In that cabinet, you'll find some straws," she said after she fell, then sipped tea through one. When you call her and ask how she's doing today and she laughs and says through swollen lips, "I'm even more gorgeous than I was yesterday."

I always knew she was strong. When she was younger, she was constantly cleaning, scrubbing, fixing or driving somewhere to take care of someone who needed her. But now she is even stronger.

There are days she insists she is a burden, that's she's outlived her usefulness, that she doesn't understand why she's still around. She's around because she teaches us how to live. She teaches us patience, humility, faith and grace under fire. This year we're not giving her presents. We're giving her a list of 85 reasons why we love her: We need her, we learn from her and we are inspired by her are just a few.