Lucky

Meet Ann. 

Ann is a 90-year-old woman from our ward who I am incredibly blessed to know. She lives in a care facility not far from our house, and I have had the privilege of visiting with her monthly for the last couple of years. She is a beautiful person; so happy, and so sweet, and so dear.

Ann has Alzheimer's Disease. She does not remember me between visits, so that every time I come and see her, it is like we are meeting for the first time. The fact that she does not know me, or understand why I am there, has never changed her kindness towards me. She seems genuinely pleased to see me whenever I show up. She brightens right up when I say hello, hugs me, kisses my cheek, and talks to and reaches for my children.

Ann reminds me how lucky I am. Multiple times each visit. She doesn't have children of her own, and when she sees me there with my kids in tow, she calls me lucky. "You're so lucky. You see, I never had children..." She reminds me what a blessing it is to be a mother. To have healthy, energetic children. To have the opportunity to learn from, and grow from, this incredibly difficult journey of motherhood. Then she forgets what she has just said, and she tells me again. I cannot hear it enough. I fill my basket during our visits, with her gentle reminders of how blessed my life is, and when I forget, or become depleted, I visit her again and she reminds me once more (and twice more, and three times more) just how lucky I am.

I started visiting Ann in the hopes that I could brighten her days, in some small way, by spending time with her and expressing my love for her, and I hope that I have done that. But I know, in my heart of hearts, that she has blessed and filled me during our visits more than I could ever have done for her. And because of that I am grateful. And amazed.

And oh, so lucky.